


You Need Rehab

by Joyous32



Series: Mercy! [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, But you know (spoilers) Gansey comes back, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dream Pack (Raven Cycle), Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, Kavinsky Redemption Arc, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rehabilitation, Slow Burn, Street Racing, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Therapy, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joyous32/pseuds/Joyous32
Summary: Ronan and Kavinsky were coming to realize that change was the scariest thing in the world, even if it was for the better (it’s still unknown), and especially when they weren’t even sure if they wanted it.**“Ronan hated their similarities. He wondered if Kavinsky hated them too. But then, the similarities were what drew them together in the first place. Maybe ‘hate’ was too strong a word.”
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent
Series: Mercy! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862164
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	1. Admissions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Coming out, referenced suicide attempt, references to self harm

"I'm just a broken machine.  
Not who I used to be. I'm spinning out of control.  
…  
Take a human heart, add some vanity, authenticity, and put them all together."  
- _Broken Machine,_ Nothing But Thieves

Ronan was gay. He decided it was long past time to admit this to himself. And what better way to admit this to himself than to admit it to his friends?

He thought of all the fun and crazy ways he could come out to his friends, including mostly stupid jokes, but some shock factor. And in the end, he decided against all of them. He wasn’t the funny friend, and while he was the shocking friend, it would make more of a splash if he just came out and said it.

So he did.

“I think I’m gay,” Ronan announced when Blue and Adam were over. Gansey was pouring over some books with Adam while Blue and Ronan had been arguing under their breath on the couch.

Now they weren’t. They were all staring at him.

Ronan could feel his face light up and glared them down. “What was that, you found Blue’s mom?” He asked Gansey when nobody said another word. Blue kicked him.

“You _think_ you’re gay?” Adam voiced quietly but shut up quickly when Ronan’s razor-sharp glare turned to him. Noah was suddenly draped over the back of the couch, his hand playing with Ronan’s buzzed hair.

He would have to ask Noah to help him shave it down again later. It was getting too long. Ronan thought of the irony involved in his dependence on the dead.

“Okay. Thank you for trusting us, Ronan. Nobody feels any differently about you here. This is a safe space,” Gansey finally harangued.

“I’d ask if you memorized that, but there’s no way you knew to,” Ronan snorted.

“Oh, I knew to,” Gansey grumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose as he turned back to his books.

“ _What_?”

“You aren’t subtle in the way you look at Gansey’s arms,” Blue pointed out when the others weren’t forthcoming.

Ronan glared at her. “Neither are you, Maggot.” Gansey was bright red, but definitely not saying anything.

“Or Kavinsky’s everything,” Adam murmured. Ronan grunted as he went off to grab a beer and the conversation veered back to caves.

That night, after Adam and Blue had left, Gansey and Ronan were working on the model Henrietta when Gansey spoke up once more. “Do you like me? Like—like that?” His face turned bright red once more.

“You know that’s like, the first thing you _aren’t_ supposed to ask somebody when they’ve come out to you. Right up there with asking a couple who the woman is,” Ronan remarked. Gansey just stared for a moment longer.

Ronan knew Gansey didn’t mean anything by it. Gansey was ignorant to the world and Ronan tended to worry it would swallow Gansey whole.

Ronan took a deep breath. “I think I like Kavinsky.”

And there it was. Ronan’s second admission. One of the first Kavinsky had asked him for, so maybe he was getting somewhere.

“Okay? Remember, right now, he’s broken,” Gansey suggested. Which…was not what Ronan had been expecting.

“Aren’t you supposed to warn me away from him?”

“I don’t think he’s present enough in his own life—or mind—to influence you, anymore. I think you’re altogether much stronger than he is. And right now, he’s very…breakable.”

“You didn’t hear the way he was cussing me out.” Ronan scratched the back of his head.

“I’ve heard it before.” Gansey waved a dismissing hand.

“No, it’s always unique.” Ronan folded his legs together and leaned back. Gansey stared at him over his glasses. “What?”

“Whatever your love language is, Ronan; I don’t mind. Don’t lead each other nowhere, though. Okay?” Gansey turned his attention back to his model Henrietta, but Ronan reached over to shove at him. Gansey giggled and forced himself to remain upright.

“Okay.”

“Remember we’re picking up Malory tomorrow,” Gansey reminded Ronan, who just grumbled as he headed up to his own room.

Ronan was listening to his music as he lay on his bed that night. It was loud and incomprehensible. Ronan’s last admission to himself wasn’t quite the last, as it had parts A and B, but he figured a day of three—including part A only—was quite good enough.

He pulled out his phone and typed. “ _You did it because you thought you had nowhere to go. You don’t like the alternatives. You don’t see how to change. You’re afraid to. To change and see the alternatives. Just like I’m afraid of admitting—_ ”

Ronan took a deep breath, looking away from his phone for a moment to collect himself.

“ _—things. I know I’m gay, and I know I’m gayer for you than I’d like to be. Change is scary, but it can’t be scarier than dying, right? So, let’s try this again from the beginning, K. No more secrets._ ”

And then Ronan promptly deleted the whole paragraph.

***

_“Come over or you’re a pussy.”_

Ronan would’ve come over anyway, but honestly, Kavinsky’s ultimatum just made him less likely to want to go over.

Still, it was the first time Kavinsky had contacted him since Ronan had visited him in the hospital. He hadn’t gone back, though he imagined he’d hear it from Kavinsky sooner or later in some overly dramatic fashion. Ronan knew Kavinsky was out the second the seventy-two-hour hold was up, but he still hadn’t heard from Kavinsky or reached out in the past day and a half since his release.

To top it all off, Malory was giving Ronan a headache, and he’d only known the man for a day.

“ _Since you asked so nicely._ ”

Ronan walked into the house to find Kavinsky sprawled out over his bed, shirtless with his jeans undone. This isn’t what drove Ronan to freeze. There were two women perched over him, kissing each other and then him, both in various states of undress that Ronan didn’t dwell too long on.

“What the hell, K?” Ronan snapped.

“Lynch! Just in time. One for each of us, see?” Kavinsky snapped dramatically. “But I forgot, you don’t swing that way. Guess I’ll have to do all the entertaining.” He gave Ronan a shit-eating grin, his eyes somewhere between hateful and tired.

Ronan had never felt more like a kid from an all-boys’ private school before. He’d been confronted with women, even women kissing. But not like this. Not the way Kavinsky was laying them out for him. Throwing in his face what he was meant to want but couldn’t.

_Or…not_ meant _to want…fuck people’s expectations._

“They know you tried to kill yourself not ten feet away from where you’re currently sitting?” Ronan sneered, and Kavinsky’s grin faltered for a split second. Neither girl paid Ronan’s words any mind, and it only made him angrier. They were _supposed_ to flinch away. That’s what people did when faced with the idea of suicide.

“I get you a gift and this is how you respond?”

“Have you gone to therapy yet? Doctor’s orders, right?”

“They can’t _force_ me to go. Free country and all that shit. Right, cunt?” He asked the girl currently kissing her way up his neck.

“Then I have nothing more to say to you.”

“Good. Shut up and get over here, you faggot.”

“No.”

“No? Just like you didn’t visit? Like you didn’t stay?” Ronan picked up a shoe lying on the floor and threw it at him. One girl jumped while the other just peered back at Ronan for a moment. Kavinsky grabbed it and tossed it back, but Ronan ducked in time. “Come back when you’re over your piece of shit attitude, eh, Lynch?”

“Jersey trash,” Ronan murmured, striding back out of the house.

***

Ronan went three whole weeks without hearing from Kavinsky again, during which they discovered their Latin teacher had ordered Ronan’s father’s death, they had found a crazy lady in a cave, and Adam had _not_ been hit when scaffolding had fallen on him. That last one was fresh—though, probably currently the least of their worries.

Kavinsky’s pack of dogs had returned from their vacations and gave Ronan dirty looks in the halls of Aglionby. Ronan flipped them off in response.

Then one day, he was halfway on his way to the Barns when he got a call from Kavinsky. “Pick me up,” Kavinsky demanded.

“What? Where are you?” Chainsaw squawked as Ronan pulled to the side of the road. He was somewhat annoyed with the strings Kavinsky knew how to pull on him. Kavinsky gave him the address, which Ronan found suspicious enough until he realized it was an office building behind some storage units.

“Therapy?” Ronan asked, staring up at the sign as Kavinsky opened the passenger door to find a bird in his seat. “How’d you get here? Where’s the Evo?” Kavinsky flapped his hand at Chainsaw and she flapped her wings back before going to sit in the backseat instead.

“Skov took me. Didn’t let me drive myself.” Kavinsky lit a cigarette, but Ronan rolled down the window, snatched it from Kavinsky and tossed it out. Kavinsky gave him some creative curses.

“You’re high after your first therapy session.”

“And you’re a piece of shit, trash, Lynch. I was high before it too.”

“He didn’t come to pick you up?”

“Skov can go fuck himself.”

“Oh, is your _sunny_ _personality_ the reason?” Ronan snorted. They both remained silent. Ronan looked over at one point and was pretty sure Kavinsky’s eyes were closed behind his glasses.

When they reached Kavinsky’s house, Kavinsky sauntered out of the car and then went to lean against its grill. He lit another cigarette and seemed fixed to remain where he was until the cigarette was done.

Sighing, Ronan joined him, waving the smoke away from his face when Kavinsky blew toward him. Then he saw Kavinsky pull up his sleeves and turn his hands palms up.

“Look-see. We match.” At first, Ronan wasn’t sure if it was morbid curiosity or pure surprise, but he jerked his head over to look at him.

It wasn’t curiosity.

“Mine weren’t intentional.” Ronan barely spared Kavinsky’s wrists a glance. He’d been there; what more was there to see?

“That’s what they all say.”

“Rot in hell, shit wipe.” Ronan’s jaw clenched.

“You need therapy.”

“Fuck. You,” Ronan insisted, and Kavinsky cackled.

“I’ve shown you mine.” Kavinsky pulled his sleeves back down.

“Is that my hoodie?”

“Maybe.” Kavinsky bit at the sleeve, but Ronan could also see him bodily breath in its scent. Ronan willed his face to stop from going blotchy as he wished he had found the chance to steal one of Kavinsky’s hoodies.

Ronan thought for a moment longer. “I’m gay,” he informed Kavinsky instead.

Kavinsky snorted. “Congratu-fucking-lations. You’re officially the last to know.”

Admission one complete. Admissions two and three?

Ronan pulled the bracelets up his wrists a little and gave Kavinsky a brief glance. Almost immediately, he turned them back over, but Kavinsky didn’t let him put the bracelets back in their place. Kavinsky took Ronan’s arm and held it out so that he could see Ronan’s wrist.

Ronan hated their similarities. He wondered if Kavinsky hated them too. But then, the similarities were what drew them together in the first place. Maybe ‘hate’ was too strong a word.

“Don’t do it again,” Ronan practically whispered.

“What, you think it might work? Three strikes, I’m out?” Kavinsky looked up from Ronan’s wrist, a hand coming down to trace the scars. Ronan pulled away jerkily.

“K—”

“What, man, are you the Dick to my Lynch? You can’t fix me.”

“Yes.” Ronan reached over and grabbed Kavinsky’s jaw, turning the boy to face him dead in the eye. Ronan pulled off Kavinsky’s glasses to be sure Kavinsky wasn’t looking away and Kavinsky was surprisingly yielding. “I fucking can.” After all this, fixing Kavinsky seemed the easiest solution. Being away from him wasn’t working. Trying to convince himself he didn’t care didn’t work either.

“You want some truths, tell me some,” Kavinsky snarled.

“The fuck—”

“What was that dream? Your suicide dream.” Kavinsky snatched his glasses back and put them back on even though the sun was setting.

_Part B._

“It’s what you think it was,” Ronan grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Their arms jostled one another, but neither did anything about it.

“What was that?”

“What do you want me to say, K? It wasn’t me; it was the night terrors,” Ronan insisted.

Kavinsky took a long, slow drag from the cigarette. Ronan didn’t go on, though he knew Kavinsky was waiting for him to.

“And are you their bitch, or are they yours?” Kavinsky’s grin was leathery around his somehow perfect teeth. “Who controls the night terrors, Lynch? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your job.” Somehow, the searing silence between them was less agonizing than the words coming out of his mouth. “‘I didn’t try to kill myself, the night terrors got me’.” Kavinsky did a high-pitched imitation of Ronan’s voice. “Like a kid shifting the blame.”

“Sounds familiar. ‘It wasn’t me; it was the pills’,” Ronan mimicked him back, and Kavinsky gave a hearty laugh. Ronan considered having dreamt another version of himself for the night terrors to kill only a few nights ago with Adam. Could he have done that last minute all those months ago to avoid the scarring on his arms? “Didn’t it psych you out? That second after? That… split second.”

“No.”

“You were too high,” Ronan snorted.

“Sure, blame the drugs. What did we just say? Here I thought we were having an honest conversation.” Kavinsky held out his hands. “I was too high—you were dreaming. What does that say about you, then?”

“It was a simulation of reality. It wasn’t supposed to follow me,” Ronan explained, hearing how hypocritical he sounded. Kavinsky’s drugs were a simulation of reality. They were dream drugs; they weren’t supposed to have lasting effects.

“So that’s why you haven’t tried again then? You were too scared?”

“Fuck you, man. I realized I had too much to live for. I wasn’t going to… I don’t know. I wasn’t going to ever eat bacon again. Or…pet a dog.” Ronan remembered Mallory’s dog and decided that was a bad example. “Fly in a helicopter.”

“Have you done that?”

“Of course, I have. Why, you haven’t?”

“No.” Ronan couldn’t tell if it was nicotine or interest on Kavinsky’s face.

“Something to look forward to then, right?”

“If you say so, Lynch.”

“Are you going to try again?” Ronan pressed and Kavinsky snorted.

“Of course not. I don’t keep doing things I’m no good at and clearly, this is one of them, so…” It was the most non-answer answer Kavinsky could have given. He might as well have denied those few days’ events.

Kavinsky dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, stepping around Ronan to walk up to his house, but Ronan stopped him, a hand on his shoulder. Ronan stepped directly in front of Kavinsky and gestured between the two of them. “This. This is something to look forward to. A possibility.”

“Like that would ever happen,” Kavinsky sneered, scratching his neck to have an excuse to look away so completely.

“I’m saying it could and I know you want it, so don’t you brush it off like it’s nothing.”

“You can’t sell your body to convince me to live,” Kavinsky enunciated, a finger jabbing Ronan’s chest.

“I’m not. I’m not a liar.”

“Says Mr. Not-A-Suicide-Attempt.”

“It was a simulation of an attempt.” Ronan looked down, but Kavinsky tilted his chin back up with his finger.

“ _Suicide_.” Kavinsky always found the words Ronan didn’t want to voice.

“No more lies, K. I’ve got some fucked up fascination for you, so you stick around to see if anything comes of it, capiche?” Ronan wished he had memorized the speech he had written out while drunk. Or maybe he just wished he was drunk. Everything sounded less sappy when you were drunk.

Kavinsky leaned in, his lips brushing Ronan’s before Ronan could push him back to arm’s length. “No. Not yet.”

Kavinsky practically growled. “Rather selfish of you, making me wait around so you can decide whether you have any use of me.” Now Kavinsky wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“At very least, we’re friends. You got that?” Ronan shook Kavinsky’s shoulders and Kavinsky gave a moan before chuckling. “And you can go off with whoever if you decide against me, nobody said otherwise. I just know you won’t.”

Finally, Kavinsky spared him a miniscule glance—one where his eyes seemed to connect even from behind the glasses. “Comprende, cowboy. Now let’s get drunk, come on.” He gestured for his own home, and Ronan reluctantly followed, calling for Chainsaw to join them.


	2. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: References to child abuse, vomiting

“This comedown won't cure itself.  
It's driving you away, piece by piece, day by day.  
Baby, tell me if I'm being strange and if I need to rearrange my particles.  
I will for you.”  
- _Particles,_ Nothing But Thieves

Ronan heard from Gansey that Kavinsky had returned to school. Ronan, of course, had been ditching, and more importantly, sleeping at the time. The following day had been Kavinsky’s turn to ditch. After all, he couldn’t ruin his reputation by turning up at school two days in a row. Ronan understood.

The day after that had been Adam’s court case, and Ronan didn’t plan on missing that mess for the world. That evening, however, Ronan went out for a drive. And so, Kavinsky found him.

Ronan saw the Mitsu from his rearview mirror and waited at the green light for it. He had the windows rolled down and the air conditioning on full blast. His music was just loud enough that Kavinsky waited for him to turn it down before opening his mouth.

Ronan narrowed his eyes at the look on Kavinsky’s face. What was it, insecurity? Was the therapy doing him any good, then? The glasses were gone, as was reasonable for humans at this time of evening.

They were still staring at each other, until Ronan finally rolled his eyes and faced forward again. The light had turned red. Finally, Kavinsky pounded on the side of his car. “Race me.”

“In the car you dreamt? You’re a fucking cheat.” Ronan smirked.

“I won’t cheat.”

“Hell, you won’t.”

“I won’t fucking cheat!” Kavinsky insisted.

“Catch me if you can then.” Ronan smirked as the light turned green and he sped off.

Ronan insisted he won when they reached Kavinsky’s house. Kavinsky insisted it was a draw. Ronan asked him if he had any pot. “I thought you wanted me to quit that shit,” Kavinsky pointed out.

“I want you to quit the coke and other shit. Pot’s nothing, right? Even you say so.” Kavinsky didn’t say anything but handed Ronan a soda. Ronan sighed, accepting the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to get high tonight.

“What’s got you so worked up, anyhow? Normally you’re as fucked up physically as you are mentally. Or is that why you’re here?” Kavinsky gave a cackle as he pulled out leftover pasta from some restaurant or another.

“I don’t play punching bag,” Ronan snarled. “Speaking of, if you stop chewing on that, it’ll heal.” Ronan pointed to Kavinsky’s split lip as Kavinsky microwaved his pasta. 

“And ruin the first gift you gave me?” Kavinsky cackled, but Ronan rolled his eyes. He didn’t really believe that Kavinsky’s lip was still split from when he had punched him those many months ago. “What’s your issue, Lynch? Since you pry into my life, allow me some entertainment.”

Ronan figured that was fair, but he wasn’t sure this was his story to tell. “Adam’s…”

“Straight?”

“Fuck you, man.” Kavinsky just cackled. “He’s dealing with family shit.”

“Finally getting to his abusive bastard, then?” Kavinsky pulled his food back out of the microwave as it began to beep and served them both some pasta.

“Hopefully, yes.” Ronan didn’t ask Kavinsky how he knew. Anyone with eyes could have seen the bruises Adam regularly came to school with. It was common enough amongst the Raven Boys, especially those who ran in Kavinsky’s crowd. It was why they were then labelled punks with no respect for authority. It was hard to respect authority who regularly beat you or turned a blind eye to the obvious signs of abuse.

“And so, you want to hit something?” Kavinsky was already shoveling food down his own throat with little consideration of chewing.

“Seeing as you’re high as a kite right now, it’s rather hypocritical of you to be denying me that same opportunity,” Ronan accused rather than trying to answer that question. Kavinsky seemed to consider this and suddenly focused on chewing.

“Why’re you here?” Kavinsky insisted, never taking his eyes off Ronan unless it was to avoid Ronan’s direct eye contact. Ronan downed his soda in a few gulps, and then sighed. And belched.

“You don’t fake like you’re not a fuck up.”

“Everyone in the world knows they’re fucked up, Lynch. Some people are just better at hiding it,” Kavinsky answered straight-faced, and Ronan raised an eyebrow. Was that the therapy talking, then?

“Hiding it is different than acting like there’s nothing wrong.”

“I do not know what you are implying,” Kavinsky enunciated. “You gonna finish that?” Kavinsky pointed to Ronan’s pasta that Ronan had yet to even touch. He shoved it toward Kavinsky, glad that the boy was eating at least. Ronan wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, himself.

“You’re real.”

“No fuck. We’ve proven that over and over.” Kavinsky suddenly stopped chewing and pushed Ronan’s food back toward him. He sat down and rested his head against his arms where they rested against the counter. “Trouble in paradise then?”

“What?”

“Dick and Trailer Trash leaving you for each other? Or that girl. Or all three.” Kavinsky giggled and then rested his face against his arms where they rested on the counter.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Or…are you leaving me for Parrish?”

Ronan rolled his eyes but humored him. “Why would I leave one violent fuck up for another violent fuck up?”

“He’s nothing like me.”

“He’s you with anxiety and an inferiority complex.”

“Fuck that.” Kavinsky snorted and then hesitated. “Just that I know I’m fucked up?”

“What about it?” Ronan couldn’t explain the complexity that was Adam Parrish. “It’s too dangerous not to know.” Did he ever crush on Parrish? Maybe, so what?

Adam saw his abuse as an excuse for his actions. Maybe it was too fresh. But that wasn’t what Ronan needed—he was too far along from his trauma. It was time to grow. To begin again.

While Ronan knew he used Niall’s death as an excuse to act out, he also knew it was wrong to do so when it affected others. He didn’t need Adam reminding him of his excuses when instead, he could have Kavinsky reminding him why the excuses were shit.

He needed to be held accountable for his actions.

“Do you ever feel guilty about what you’ve done?” Ronan blurted out and Kavinsky groaned.

“Fuck—you… my therapist—shut your mouth,” Kavinsky muttered into his arm.

“ _What_ is wrong with you?” Ronan repeated.

“Feel sick.”

“Well, you just inhaled a pound of pasta.”

“Was hungry. Not anymore.” Kavinsky sighed. “Need a line.”

And that’s when it clicked in Ronan’s head. “When’s the last time you did?”

“Did? Did a line? Ah—” Kavinsky broke off to go vomit into the trash can. “Long enough.” Kavinsky spat as Ronan went to get him some paper towels and a cup of water.

“Jesus. What are you trying to do, go cold turkey?”

“No. Where’s my dust?” Kavinsky stood back up and looked around.

“It would be better to let yourself get over it now rather than go back.” Ronan suggested.

“One step forward, two steps back. Get out of my way before I kill you.” Kavinsky pointed to the cabinet above Ronan’s head. Ronan hesitated, but he knew that getting clean wasn’t something Kavinsky was going to accomplish overnight—or by himself. “I’ll get you your pot, dickhead,” Kavinsky added, but Ronan was already moving out of the way. “Ha, dickhead. Get it ‘cause you give Dick—”

“Do your drugs and shut the hell up.”

This just made Kavinsky laugh harder. “You like my voice.”

Ronan chose to ignore that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry. I know Adam’s TRC’s sweetheart, but I can’t stand him. I know, I have issues. I’ve known too many people too similar to Adam who used their abuse as a reason to treat other people like crap. And I think I saw that a few too many times in TRC, though it may have been me projecting. I’ll fix my issues eventually (I need therapy), but here ya go.


	3. Asleep and Awake at the Same Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Canonical minor character death, panic attack

“Hey baby, you ok? Still feeling strange?  
I'm starting to think our luck could change."  
- _Reset Me,_ Nothing But Thieves

The lady at Blue’s house died.

Persephone.

Adam liked her. Ronan didn’t know her, but he understood. The memory of death pounding in his skull, Ronan found it easier to scare Greenmantle out of Henrietta.

They found Maura.

It had been a rough weekend and Ronan didn’t see himself falling asleep anytime soon.

The week after Adam’s court case, Ronan had semi-regularly attended school. Four out of five days was pretty damn impressive. Kavinsky had attended three days, all of which matched with Ronan’s. He smirked at Ronan in the halls but didn’t approach. Ronan returned the favor. They had reputations to maintain.

Ronan decided his good attendance last week allowed for some slack this week. Not to mention, the actual death of a family friend.

Still, Gansey and Adam would be back at school in five hours. If Ronan weren’t mistaken, he imagined Blue might be too. While Blue had no qualms over skipping, Ronan figured Maura might.

If Ronan really thought about it, he knew where he was. A certain neighborhood on a certain side of Henrietta. He was definitely in Henrietta. He didn’t care to think too hard about it, though. Until he found Kavinsky’s Mitsubishi parked out beside a field of corn.

He pulled up beside it to find Kavinsky passed out on the steering wheel. Ronan chose not to honk, as there were houses nearby. He stopped his car and strolled over to the driver’s window of the Mitsu.

When Ronan knocked on the window, Kavinsky about jumped out of his skin. He messed with the side panel, realized his car was off, went for his keys, couldn’t find them, and finally Ronan opened the door.

Both were a little startled to find it unlocked.

“Where are your keys?” Ronan asked first, figuring that _could_ end up being the most important matter at hand.

“I don’t—” Kavinsky grumbled, looking around, his hands shaking. He moved to stand up out of the car, but he was still belted in place. He reached for the release, but his hands were still shaking too badly to find it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ronan asked.

“I don’t—I can’t—” Kavinsky found the release and pushed Ronan weakly out of the way, standing up and moving to walk away, but his knees buckled.

“Hey!” Ronan caught him and helped him sit down on the curb beside the car. Kavinsky placed his head in his hands and breathed.

“Where are we?” Kavinsky gasped after a few seconds.

“I don’t know.”

Wrong answer.

“Dude, breathe. Relax. We’re fine. We’ve got GPS. We’re, shit, in the East Street neighborhood? Somewhere ‘round there. Look, corn field.” Ronan knelt down beside him and placed his hand on the back of Kavinsky’s neck.

“My keys.”

“We’ll find them.” Kavinsky was turning blue. “I’ve got the spare still.” Kavinsky whimpered, but it still didn’t look like he was breathing. “You can dream more. Relax.”

“I need—I need—” Kavinsky grabbed at his own wrist—his pulse.

“You need to breathe. Look at me,” Ronan demanded and Kavinsky finally glanced up, his bottom lip quivering as his eyes darted around. “Breathe, see?” Ronan breathed audibly and slowly. It took a few tries and Ronan felt like an idiot, but finally Kavinsky mimicked him and color came back to his face.

“Come here.” Ronan tugged on his arm and Kavinsky tried to shake him off. “Up.” Ronan bodily led him over to his BMW and sat him down on the passenger side, Kavinsky seeming to try to slither out of his grip like a dead-weight cat. Ronan left the door open so Kavinsky could stick his feet out and breathe the night air while Ronan leaned against the back wheel, folding his arms over his chest.

“Where’s your turkey?” Kavinsky asked shakily, sounding too much like he was trying to sound normal. Ronan was annoyed at how quickly he knew exactly what Kavinsky was talking about.

“Left Chainsaw home, ball sack.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Been?”

“You weren’t at the warehouse you live in all weekend. Couldn’t find you. Not at the church. You fucking Parrish?” Kavinsky ran his hand through his hair as if trying to make sure it had the correct tousled look.

“We’ve been—” Kavinsky gave a snort. “—looking through caves. Friend’s family member died.”

“Which one?” Kavinsky stared up at the night sky, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Which—?”

“Which friend, doofus; I know your friends.”

“Sargent.” Ronan looked up at the sky. “Blue.”

“Who?”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “The girl, dumbass.” Kavinsky was breathing now, though still open-mouthed and tired eyed. “Why are you out here?”

“Why are _you_ out here?”

“I just told you. Your turn.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Seems not.”

“Couldn’t sleep without the pills, man. And out here, I can’t get to them unless I’m dreaming.” Kavinsky searched his own person for a second and came up with his keys out of his back pocket. No drugs.

“But you slept.” Ronan gave a sharp nod and Kavinsky finally turned to look at him.

“What’s it to you?”

“Weird place to sleep.” Ronan stood straight. “When’s the last time you did a drug of any sort?”

“Don’t know what day it is,” Kavinsky grumbled.

“Haven’t you ever tried to dream a cure-all drug? Something like that?” Ronan shrugged.

“Like the cure to cancer?” Kavinsky gave a smile that suggested he was humoring Ronan. “I think I’d have to know how it works before I could duplicate it. Also, I’d need a test subject. But then again, the world’s biggest and best monopoly—”

“You’d die, it’d be gone, and things would go back to shit.” Ronan stared flatly out at the cornfield. “I mean a pill to get rid of the need for other pills.”

“Sounds… counterintuitive.” Kavinsky shook his head, pursing his lips.

“One pill. For forever,” Ronan pressed.

“You’re the inventor.”

Ronan’s eyes flickered. “Let’s get you home.”

“Don’t want to go home.”

“Let’s get you out of a family neighborhood. I don’t think it can take much more of your presence,” Ronan offered instead. Kavinsky gave him a quirk of his lips and moved to rise out of Ronan’s BMW. “Nope. I’m driving.” Ronan shoved him back down and Kavinsky’s hand thoughtlessly wrapped around his.

“I’m not leaving my car here.”

“Yes, you are. You’re not driving like this. It’ll be here in the morning.” Ronan watched Kavinsky play with his hand before pulling away.

“Morning’s in like, four hours.”

“You can tell time, but you don’t know what day it is?”

“Your car’s still on, fuck ass.” Kavinsky pointed at the radio and Ronan conceded with a shrug, closing the door when Kavinsky turned to face forward. Ronan made sure the Mitsubishi was locked this time and then headed back to the BMW.

“Why don’t you want to go home?” Ronan asked as he began driving. Kavinsky mumbled something. “What?”

“Drugs, man! And my mom. But the stash is there, and I’ve stayed clean, like, I don’t know. However long…”

“We could clean the place out.”

“No, I’ll need them.” Kavinsky pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Your mom?” Kavinsky didn’t offer anything else up.

“Why were you in caves?”

“You know about Gansey’s search for Glendower?” Ronan asked and Kavinsky made a gesture that said ‘kind of’. So, Ronan explained. He explained about Cabeswater and the ley line, too.

“So, you didn’t want me dreaming things too much because it would deprive you of your fairyland? Maybe that’s what’s taking up all the dream juice, not whatever shit I’m up to.”

“Could be.” Ronan didn’t need to _tell_ Kavinsky that Cabeswater was a dream thing, and he decided he liked that fact. “But you’ve never seen this place.”

“Take me.”

“Not now.” Ronan shook his head.

“You’ve got a magical forest that takes my dream power, but you won’t let me see it,” Kavinsky pointed out. Ronan faltered.

“It’s—it acts on what you’re feeling or thinking. I’m not taking you there yet.”

“Fuck you.”

“You know, you’ve been there. In your dreams. The forest.”

“Take me,” Kavinsky repeated. 

Ronan gave in. They entered in an area that Aurora wasn’t likely to be present in. Ronan had a feeling Kavinsky wouldn’t appreciate having his mother waved in his face.

Instead, Ronan showed him the other more magical aspects of Cabeswater. The dogs with wings, the flowers blooming light, fruit that tasted like chocolate. The tree that grew car parts fascinated Kavinsky. A few seconds later, a tree sprouting money appeared and Kavinsky punched the air, laughing.

That’s when what looked like a crowd of people appeared on the horizon. At first, Ronan thought maybe Aurora had found them, like she had some sort of honing beacon. But there were too many of them. Roughly ten people were approaching— fast, their eyes focused on Kavinsky, whose face had gone white. The look in their hollow eyes was not welcoming.

“Cabeswater, protect us,” Ronan stated, but the people didn’t slow down. “Cabeswater, protect him!” Ronan added. “Make them deer.”

The people molded themselves into creatures on all fours. They weren’t quite deer, but they scampered away all the same. Kavinsky collapsed into a squat, his face hidden in his hands while Ronan stared after the creatures.

“Do you turn everyone you don’t like into deer?” Kavinsky mumbled out.

“That’s why I didn’t want to bring you.” Ronan shifted his attention back to Kavinsky as the boy stood back up, wiping at his eyes and nose.

“Because I’d manifest a mob of the people I’ve fucked up?” Ronan had thought one of them looked a bit too much like Kavinsky—his father, maybe. Prokopenko had been there. Maybe the whole pack.

“Well.” Ronan shifted his weight. “No.”

Kavinsky grew a tree of beer and then plopped down on a giant mattress that floated in the middle of the lake. Ronan raised an eyebrow at him when Kavinsky patted beside himself.

Kavinsky returned the look. “It floats. And it’s king sized. I ain’t gonna fuck you, Lynch, relax your tits.”

Ronan took a beer and joined him. “You still doing therapy, then?”

“Well, fuck, how’d you come to that conclusion?” Kavinsky burped loudly and gave a cackle when it echoed off the surrounding trees.

“It’s working?”

“Fuck off. It ain’t doing shit.” Kavinsky wiped at his nose again.

“No? Because that looked like remorse.” Ronan jerked a thumb back at the shore.

“I’m a person, Lynch.”

“No shit. You sure are becoming one.” They were both quiet for a while. Finally, Ronan sighed. “You don’t want to be high, anymore. That’s something.”

Kavinsky sneered. “You wanna know where my mom was that day?” He chucked his beer can into the water, but it became a stone before it hit. Kavinsky gave Ronan a look but didn’t comment. “Two doors down. Ambulance fools didn’t even wake her. And that’s not what I want to be.” He shook his head. He leaned his head back to rest against his shoulders and gaze up at the starless sky. “I’m legally an adult now, you know? They can’t remove me from her custody. But they can question whether it’s a safe environment for my health.” He tapped his temple.

“You dream it away?”

“My dad got in their way.” Kavinsky shrugged. “Like I wanted. She’s going to rehab now.”

“And can you?” Ronan questioned. Kavinsky shook his head slowly and sped up. He turned his hand palm up from where it had been rested wrapped around his knees. A pill sat against his palm. Ronan focused and it became a fly that buzzed off before Kavinsky could do anything about it.

Kavinsky gave a sneer. “I can manipulate this place as well as you can, Lynch. If I want the drug in my system, it’ll damn well be in my system.” He inhaled sharply, deeply, and then relaxed with a shiver. Ronan raised an eyebrow as Kavinsky’s eyes blurred. The blur was still calmer than the piercing panic that had been in its place. “Like being asleep and awake at the same time,” Kavinsky commented as they reached the shore once more.

Ronan tugged him up, understanding exactly what he meant.


	4. Mantra (AKA What Fourth Wall?)

“So I hit my head up against the wall  
Over and over and over and over again and again  
'Cause I don't wanna be like them.”  
- _Amsterdam,_ Nothing But Thieves

Ronan pulled his car into Kavinsky’s driveway. Proko, out of all people, had found Kavinsky’s phone, stolen Ronan’s number, and demanded that Ronan get to Kavinsky’s—stat. With the understanding that Kavinsky was not about to kill anyone, Ronan took his time out of pure spite.

Ronan stepped out of his car and was immediately met with a face full of Kavinsky, who reached out and hugged Ronan, picking him up in his fervor. “K— _K_!” Ronan wrapped his arms around Kavinsky’s head in an attempt to stop from toppling over, and finally he was set down.

“Dude. _Dude_!” Kavinsky pulled Ronan into his house and around to the pool in the backyard. “Are you ready for this? Are you fucking ready?”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Ronan looked around to see Swan on a floaty in the pool. Prokopenko and Skov were sitting at a table under an umbrella and Jiang was nowhere to be seen.

“Mentos in soda!” Kavinsky held his hands out dramatically, and Ronan gazed around to see if this was some sort of trick they were playing on him.

“What?”

“Mentos in soda, man! It’s like a virgin Molotov cocktail!” Kavinsky mimicked an explosion with his hands.

“To be fair, we’ve done it twice, now, and fuck-all’s happened.” Skov called, stirring some sort of mixed drink.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ronan didn’t turn his attention from Kavinsky.

“Ever jumped on a capri sun?”

“I didn’t think you could even get this high.”

“Ahahaha!” Kavinsky guffawed as he went stomping on capri suns strategically laid across the lawn.

“He’s sober.” Prokopenko put in.

“ _That’s_ sober?” Ronan finally turned his attention away from Kavinsky.

“He’s caffeinated to high hell and it might just kill him anyway,” Swan pointed out. Kavinsky face planted into the water and didn’t seem to have any intentions on resurfacing. They all looked to Swan, who sighed, but went in after him. He tossed Kavinsky back onto the pavement and dug around in Kavinsky’s clothes until he came up with his phone. He double checked that it still worked and then tossed it lightly onto Kavinsky’s stomach. “Moron.”

“When’s the last time you slept?” Ronan asked Kavinsky, who just stared up at him.

“If I sleep, I dream, and if I dream, I get high.”

“When’s the last time you got high?” Ronan tried instead.

“With you.” All eyes turned to glare at Ronan, who just glared back.

“You’ve been sober six days? Have you digested anything?”

“Um…” Kavinsky didn’t seem to remember how he had even gotten wet.

“Get up, let’s go.”

“Where we going?” It followed that, if Kavinsky hadn’t gotten high in six days, he likely hadn’t slept in that same amount of time. This would also explain the clear sleep deprivation in his face and behavior.

“You’re getting dressed in something dry and then you’re going to bed.”

“With you?” Kavinsky’s grin wasn’t sneering enough to look like anything more than a mischievous twelve-year-old.

Ronan pushed him into the bathroom with a spare change of clothes and tried not think about the last time Ronan had been in these rooms. When Kavinsky exited, he was only wearing the boxers. “Fuck no.” Ronan shoved him back into the bathroom.

When Kavinsky came out more adequately dressed in sweatpants and a muscle tank, Ronan directed him to the bed. Kavinsky seemed fine with this until Ronan moved to walk away. “Don’t,” Kavinsky called, grabbing Ronan’s wrist.

“I’m not getting in with you,” Ronan countered, a quick motion removed Kavinsky’s hand.

“Don’t leave,” Kavinsky clarified, rubbing his eyes like a child. “Dream with me. Stop me from…”

“K, you can’t go cold turkey,” Ronan pointed out, hand on Kavinsky’s shoulder when Kavinsky reached out again. Ronan also knew he, himself, was too high strung to fall asleep at the moment. It was practically midday. “If you take whatever dream shit you find, make it non-addictive, but let it lessen the withdrawals.”

“I can’t control it.” Kavinsky eased into Ronan’s touch, and Ronan found it somewhat difficult to consider pulling away.

“I remember this conversation.” Ronan cocked his head. “I distinctly remember you saying that we’re the ones who control it.”

“Yeah, but I can’t—” He couldn’t control the addiction. He needed rehab. When Ronan said as much, Kavinsky groaned and cursed. “Found a new mantra, Lynch?”

Ronan stepped away. “I’ll stay here. I won’t let you take anything awake.” He rested his back against the closed door and Kavinsky stared a moment longer as his eyes slowly faded from view.

And so, Ronan sat, watching Kavinsky sleep. He hadn’t thought through how boring that would become. He watched closely to see if he could see some visible change in Kavinsky as he supposedly took the dream drugs in his sleep. There wasn’t anything to see. Kavinsky didn’t move much in his sleep, which made sense when Ronan remembered waking from his own dreams, paralyzed.

Ronan was about to finally doze off despite his nerves when Kavinsky’s body pulsed where it sat on the bed. Ronan blinked back awake and watched for a moment as Kavinsky shook ever so slightly. Then he jerked into action, just as Kavinsky gasped and looked down at his hand. Ronan snatched the pill from Kavinsky’s hand as Kavinsky reached up and pulled at his own hair, still gasping.

“You’re awake. Nothing’s here. You were dreaming and it’s gone,” Ronan promised, knowing just what Kavinsky needed to hear.

“That’s here,” Kavinsky slurred, a finger pointing at the pill Ronan had stolen from him.

“It’s not going to kill you.”

“It can.”

“I’m not letting it do shit.” Ronan stalked to the bathroom and tossed it into the toilet, flushing angrily. “Where’s the rest, K?” Ronan growled as he reentered the bedroom.

Kavinsky gave him a humorless grin through the sweat and tears soaking him. Ronan growled and turned to see Prokopenko sticking his head in through the door. “Fucking where’s the rest?” Ronan repeated, and Prokopenko blinked. He looked to Kavinsky and then back to Ronan.

“Here.” He led Ronan to the cabinet beneath the sink and Ronan felt sick as Proko dug around and came up with a handful of baggies.

“Flush them.” Ronan gestured to the toilet in disgust.

“Flush them?” Proko asked.

“Do you see him? Do you want him to get worse?” Ronan pointed in at the bed where Kavinsky was blearily bundling himself up in blankets. He didn’t look much worse than he normally did, but ‘normal’ was becoming more and more terrifying to look at. “Flush ‘em, toss ‘em, burn ‘em. Shit, I don’t care. Don’t take them; get rid of them!”

“If I burned them—”

“I don’t care!” Ronan’s yelling made Swan and Skov appear. “Where’s the rest?” Ronan asked them in turn.

The group got together and scoured the rest of the house for the remaining drugs. Ronan alone felt comfortable entering Kavinsky’s mother’s room to make sure it was clean too. It was worse than the rest of the house put together. When they finally came together with the rest of it, Kavinsky was lounging on the living room couch with a slice of pizza in one hand and a bottle of red in the other.

“Wine?” Ronan asked when he reentered the living room.

“It’s respectable.” Kavinsky sighed with a smirk. He was still shaking slightly, as if the room were a few degrees too cold.

“Yeah, unlike you,” Ronan sneered. He was sweating. “Do we just trash it?” Ronan asked when they stared at the heaps of baggies and bottles.

“Could make a buck or two,” Swan pointed out with a shrug and Ronan glared him into silence.

“Rich-ass doesn’t like that idea.” Kavinsky pointed out. He seemed calm, which Ronan knew meant there had to be hiding places that Kavinsky knew they wouldn’t find. It just made him angrier. Even if they did find every last molecule of cocaine and whatever else Kavinsky dreamt up, Kavinsky could always dream more.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Ronan snapped.

“What the fuck?” Kavinsky cackled.

“Fuck it all. I’ll handle it.” Ronan grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and cleaned up the mess they had come up with. “Keep him in sights. Let him drink himself sick, but don’t give him anything else.” Ronan threatened the pack. Nobody responded, but Ronan hadn’t expected them to.

When Ronan stepped out of the house, trying to figure out what to do with a trash bag of every illegal drug known to mankind, he was met with Jiang’s supra. “Heard you’ve cleaned out the stash.” The way Jiang said it made it sound like a title, ‘The Stash’. Ronan rolled his eyes.

“What of it?”

“Fools called me to let me know.” Jiang took off his sunglasses to clean them with his shirt.

“You gonna stop me?”

“I’m going to help you. I imagine you have no idea how to dispose of cocaine?” When Jiang put the sunglasses back on, Ronan got the sudden feeling that Jiang thought he was in a movie.

“What, and you do?” Ronan snapped, realizing he was probably going to leave it in the trunk of his car for a few months and then decide to bury it in the woods before he got pulled over with it.

“As a matter of fact. Brother’s a cop down at the border. So-Cal. You’ve gotta incinerate it.”

“Smoke it?”

“Incinerate. Give it here.” Jiang held his hand out.

“How do I know you’re not taking it for yourself? Or to sell?”

“Do you care if I die, Lynch? Didn’t take you for the type.”

“I don’t give a shit about you, but I care about my conscience.” Ronan scoffed.

“Please.” Jiang rolled his eyes. “Hand it over.”

“You’ll give it back to him.”

“You seen me around lately? Like, at all?” Jiang looked at him from over his sunglasses. Ronan decided Jiang definitely thought he was in a movie. “When K got big into using and selling, I dipped out. I’m not into that shit. Alcohol’s one thing, but drugs, man, they’ll ruin you. Like I said, my brother’s a cop. I would know.”

In the end, Ronan decided it was too much work to argue with him. All in all, Jiang could beat him up and leave him for dead if he really wanted to, and Ronan didn’t know what to do with the bags anyway.

And so, he finished his drug deal for nothing and headed back inside.


	5. Not Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Referenced suicidal thoughts, referenced involuntary manslaughter

“I'm held down by drawing pins, they pierce the skin.  
Lights are on but no one's in.  
When you talk, I don't feel like I belong here at all.  
Tell me what you did it, what you did it, what you did it for.  
'Cause I can't figure it out.”  
- _Drawing Pins_ , Nothing But Thieves

Ronan was wrong. He knew it, too. What Kavinsky was doing now was a form of respectability. It was the most respectable Kavinsky had been in a long time. Trying to get off the cocaine, not hitting anyone for trashing his stash. Trying to get better _was_ a respectable decision.

After Kavinsky had finished his slice of pizza, Ronan made him drink a big cup of water and head back into bed. He made himself a bed on the floor beside Kavinsky’s, so that Kavinsky would wake him if he tried to rise.

“Feel like I need a baby monitor,” Kavinsky grumbled, and Ronan mentally made note that it probably wasn’t a bad idea.

“Did you dream drugs?” Ronan asked as he settled down beside Kavinsky.

“What?”

“Earlier when you slept, did you dream that shit into your system?” There was a long silence, and Ronan figured that maybe Kavinsky had already fallen asleep.

“I dreamt the pain away.” Kavinsky’s voice cracked. Ronan looked up at the bed, but he couldn’t see Kavinsky’s face.

“Dream with me,” Ronan suggested, closing his eyes.

Just as he was about to nod off— “Ronan.” His eyes opened.

“What?” Ronan grumped.

“I can’t sleep.”

“All that alcohol coursing through you and you can’t sleep.” Ronan grit his teeth. “I’ll knock you out?”

“Okay.” It sounded too hopeful.

“I was kidding.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I’m not hitting you.”

“Fuck you.”

“For not hitting you?” Ronan shifted where he lay.

“For not putting me out of my misery.” It was muffled as if Kavinsky had a hand over his face. Ronan knew there was a bit more behind that statement than either of them cared to mention. Another _fuck you_ for forcing Kavinsky to live on. Another _fuck you_ for forcing him to try to get better.

“You’re getting better,” Ronan reminded him.

“No shit.”

“You are.”

“I _know_. I—” Ronan waited. “I feel like someone’s stuck their hand into my chest and started twisting things around. How they shouldn’t be.” Kavinsky took a shaky breath. “Guilt, Jones tells me.”

“Jones?”

“Therapist asswipe.”

“Probably not the best way to refer to someone trying to help you.” Ronan narrowed his eyes, feeling like he had been possessed by Gansey again.

“I call you an asswipe to your face. If he can’t take it, he can’t take it.”

“If it’s guilt you’re feeling—”

“Fuck you.”

“Would you listen, goddamn it?” Ronan held his hands out in front of him as if he were strangling sense into Kavinsky. “If you feel guilty, is there anything you can do to assuage the guilt?”

Kavinsky didn’t answer.

Instead, they both finally fell asleep. 

When Ronan followed Kavinsky into a dream, he yelped. “Hoh-lee _shit_!” They were high in the air, leaning out of a helicopter with no straps or safety guards.

Kavinsky laughed triumphantly. “You said we should try a helicopter.”

Ronan didn’t remember that conversation. “Have you ever been in a helicopter? Because this is not like a real helicopter.”

“This is a dream helicopter, Lynch! It’s like what I want it to be!” Their hands were clasped together, but Ronan barely noticed.

“You want it to be ball-shrinking dangerous?”

“Ball-dropping dangerous!” Kavinsky cracked up at his own joke.

“ _Fuck_!” Ronan knew this was a dream. He knew it. That knowledge, though, also reminded him that he could take injuries into the real world. Injuries like death, for example.

Of course, he knew it was a dream. He could manipulate it as much as Kavinsky could. He closed the door that appeared, and the helicopter became quieter—safer. “Shit, now this is boring.” Kavinsky complained as a helmet strapped itself to his head.

“What did you want to do, sky-dive?” Ronan snapped.

“Hell yes!” Kavinsky grinned. Ronan noticed that his eyes weren’t as sunken in, his face not as thin. Kavinsky dreamt himself healthy.

“Fine,” Ronan decided. He opened the door again and peered down. When Kavinsky moved to mimic him, Ronan held his hand out across Kavinsky’s chest, not trusting the boy to fall out, accidentally or not. Ronan imagined the softest of wool coating the ground, a mile high. And then he made sure the parachutes were correctly latched to the both of them. He’d never sky-dived before, but imagining a pulley that says ‘parachute’ wasn’t difficult to do. Now, they just had to guess when they were supposed to pull the release.

“It’s a dream—we pull it when we want to!” Kavinsky answered his thoughts.

“Will you?”

“It’s a dream!”

“You can still die.” Kavinsky’s eyes flashed, and Ronan shook his head. “Fuck this. _Fuck_ this. We’re not doing this.”

“Ronan.” Kavinsky took him by the shoulders. His arms were bare and clear of their normal blemishes. “I won’t die.”

Gulping, Ronan gazed around. There were plenty of ways he could dream this situation away, but he hadn’t seen this childlike joy in Kavinsky’s eyes ever before. He dreamt up a button on his own vest and showed it to Kavinsky.

“You don’t pull it, I will.” Ronan raised an eyebrow and Kavinsky’s grin returned.

And so, together they jumped.

And they fell.

It was open, but it was also violent.

Smacked in the face with air, but there was nothing but that air.

Kavinsky pulled the release when Ronan did, probably figuring that Ronan would press the back-up button if he didn’t within another few seconds, which was a correct assumption.

Together, they landed on the wool, falling through it softly to the floor. When it threatened to fill Ronan’s lungs, he imagined it floating away as birds. They scattered, leaving the two of them sitting in a green field.

Kavinsky cackled and lay back to stare up at the sky. The stars were there—moving visibly as if dancing through the black. Kavinsky cocked his hand like a gun up at them and with each “boom” he voiced, a star would change colors.

“Why’d you kill Proko?” Ronan asked abruptly and Kavinsky froze. Ronan hadn’t realized that Kavinsky had clasped their hands together again until Kavinsky abruptly pulled away.

“The fuck, man? Why would you ask something like that?” Kavinsky sat up to wrap his arms around his knees.

Ronan shrugged. “Who else can you talk to about it?”

“Anyone but you.”

“What?” Ronan raised an eyebrow as Kavinsky ran his fingers through his hair.

Kavinsky’s breathing got rougher and rougher. “You can’t leave, man.” Kavinsky shrugged back, staring at the grass.

“Who said I was leaving?” Ronan answered, staring him down, daring him to look back.

“It was an accident,” Kavinsky started, his arms rested around his knees again. “It was… we were both high. All I did was punch him—shake him up a little. I didn’t mean for…” Kavinsky breathed roughly and wiped his hand down his face. “His heart stopped. I guess Proko couldn’t take his drugs as well as the rest of us.” He gave an evil sneer and Ronan watched as his fingers pressed at the marks on his wrists. The scars that he hadn’t even bothered visualizing on himself until this point. “And so, I dreamt him up. And he helped me dispose of the body. He’s not been caught yet.”

Ronan reached out and grabbed Kavinsky’s hands where they were still pressing against his scars. Kavinsky watched Ronan’s hands, so Ronan didn’t let go, pulling them into a more comfortable position between them.

“I’m the fucking best at what I do. But…like the ethics argument, you know? Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.” Kavinsky sighed dramatically, as if air wasn’t reaching his lungs. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t mean…” Water dripped from Kavinsky’s face, but Ronan didn’t look too closely, knowing the other wouldn’t appreciate it. “But it doesn’t matter.”

They were both quiet, Kavinsky’s hands still in Ronan’s.

“There’s so much I’ve done. This isn’t the half of it. I should be locked up forever. I should be dead.”

One step forward—

“Or maybe, you should just live with it,” Ronan offered, and Kavinsky let out a squeak that was probably meant to be a laugh. “Isn’t that always somehow the worst? Prison’s for people who don’t feel remorse.”

And Kavinsky had come so far. He was _guilty_. Well and truly feeling the guilt he should. Ronan wasn’t sure it wouldn’t eat Kavinsky alive. But Ronan would damn well do his best to stop it from complete consumption. If the worst of the worst could get better, they had a right to be allowed to do so. It was a peculiar sort of thought—Ronan figured church must be rubbing off on him.

“There are remorseful people in prison, Lynch.”

“Sure, but… you know what I mean. They’re locked up to stop them from doing it again. You’re not…you’re not going to do it again.”

“So, I shouldn’t do time?” Kavinsky finally looked at Ronan, tears streaking his face. He turned away again too quickly.

“You need rehab,” Ronan murmured, not wanting to think too hard about this, but knowing that the question needed answering. For both of them.

“That’s not prison. Hell, that’s where I should be.”

“I don’t know. Should you?”

K still had a long hell before him.

Maybe it would be enough.

***

For several days, they dreamed. Ronan showed him everything wonderful and how it should stay. It wasn’t necessary to take because it would still be there when they dreamed again.

“Awake people ask too many questions.” Ronan held out a dragon in his hands that spat sparks at Kavinsky.

“ _‘Where’d you get that? How’d you make it?_ ’” Kavinsky mocked in a high-pitched voice. “No, no, you little fucker.” He shook his finger at the dragon, who then allowed Kavinsky to take it into his hands.

“If you leave it here, it stays safe.”

“It doesn’t live.”

“It’s safe. And we’re safer too that way,” Ronan insisted.

“Shit man, you dreamt a bird when you could’ve had a domestic dragon,” Kavinsky commented as it crawled over his shoulders and nestled there. “What, was it to show your school spirit?” His grin was leathery, but it was healthy in the dream. Like what he should’ve been as an eighteen-year-old rich kid.

“I get the bird wherever I want. You can’t leave here with the dragon.”

“I could.”

“Were you listening to a thing I just said? Moron.”

“Have you dreamed me a withdrawal cure, yet?” Kavinsky asked, but wasn’t waiting on an answer. Ronan had been too busy focusing on getting Kavinsky _not_ to take pills to dream up another. And he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea to use suicidal friends as test subjects for dream pills meant to stop cravings.

“I’mma name you Bubbles.” Kavinsky told the dragon as it nosed his cheek.

“Bubbles the dragon.” Ronan raised an eyebrow.

“Chainsaw the chicken,” Kavinsky retorted as the dragon climbed up to his head and used his hair as a lift off.

“She’s a raven.”

“Rats of the air.”

“Oh, fuck off. They are not.” A rat scuttled over their feet, sprouted wings and flew off, soon looking a bit too much like any other black bird for Ronan’s liking. “Ha-ha, point made.” Ronan gave Kavinsky a look, but Kavinsky eyes were narrowed as they stared after the rat that was long gone over the horizon.

Suddenly, out of the trees, more rats crawled into view, running over to them. Ronan made a face, but they kept coming. More and more rats like a slithering singular body escaped from the trees, running over to them and sprouting wings—taking off like ravens. Bubbles tried lighting a few on fire, but fried rats continued to fly past them. The smell wasn’t so great.

“Think of something else!” Ronan reminded Kavinsky, who was shouting as he tried shaking a few off his leg.

“Cabeswater…!” Ronan had no plea to offer. This wasn’t danger, it was terror.

The sky went black with the amount of flying rats filling it, and Ronan couldn’t think of anything to do. Then, as if they actually did form into one giant rodent, a red eye the size of the moon stared down at them.

“ _Wake up_!” Ronan heard and jerked awake.

Kavinsky was shaking him. Ronan tried to speak, but he couldn’t find his mouth. His body shook with the effort to move. He thought he tasted fur on his lips.

 _Move_.

Dreams like this were getting more common for the both of them. It could be chalked up to the events surrounding them, but after so long being protected by Cabeswater…

“It’s okay.” Kavinsky wiped a hand over his own sweaty forehead. “You’re awake.” He seemed to be reassuring himself more than Ronan. “Give it a sec, you’ll be moving. We didn’t bring anything back. You’re safe,” Kavinsky promised Ronan. Kavinsky sat back up on his own bed and curled in on himself.

Finally, Ronan gasped and coughed as if fur clouded his lungs. “We’re fine,” Kavinsky whispered.

“You—you.” Ronan sat up and looked over the edge of Kavinsky’s bed.

“I woke up first. What else was there?” Kavinsky looked at him from under his arm. “No. I don’t want to know.” He closed his eyes again, but then opened them too quickly.

“Big,” Ronan offered, still not quite able to string words together.

“No.” Kavinsky shook his head.

Ronan climbed up onto the bed beside Kavinsky, who scooted over when he saw Ronan’s intentions. Ronan took Kavinsky’s hands, but Kavinsky tugged them away when Ronan opened them and came up with nothing.

“We didn’t bring anything back. Didn’t I already tell you that?” Kavinsky snapped and wiped at the back of his neck. They were both still covered in sweat. No dreaming that away.

Ronan tugged Kavinsky over to sit between his legs, too tired and simultaneously keyed up to make himself care about sending mixed signals. Kavinsky rested his back against Ronan’s chest and Ronan wrapped his arms loosely around Kavinsky’s shoulders.

Finally, Ronan sighed, able to get a complete breath into his lungs. “You know how that fucking sucked?”

“You’re an asshole,” Kavinsky commented.

“Bitch, I’m making a point.” Ronan rested his chin against Kavinsky’s hair, breathing in the scent of clean—to the point of sterility—and sweat. “You know how that sucked? And it sucked more because you weren’t used to it? Like, if you were constantly attacked by flying fucking rats, you’d be like, jaded. You wouldn’t care anymore.”

“Fucking hell. What’s your point, Lynch?” Kavinsky cocked his head to the side, forcing Ronan to rest his chin instead on Kavinsky’s temple.

“It’s like that with the nice shit too. Like, you only get Bubbles when you’re dreaming. It makes Bubbles all the better.” Ronan massaged Kavinsky’s tense fists into open palms.

“You tired of your ostrich, is that what you’re saying?” Kavinsky watched their hands closely.

“I fucking hate you,” Ronan grunted.

“You fucking don’t.” Ronan could feel Kavinsky raise an eyebrow beneath his chin.

“Maybe you’re fucking right.” Ronan wrapped his arms back around Kavinsky. “But my point stands. Vacations are awesome because you don’t get them all the time. If you lived in a vacation spot, you wouldn’t care so much, right? Dreaming’s the same.”

Kavinsky gave a long-suffering sigh. Ronan wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. It reminded him of the last time they spent dreaming away the hours. Only this time, it was productive instead of destructive.

“Well, all this canoodling is nice, Ro, but it’s making me hard. So, either help a fella out or fuck off so I can jerk off,” Kavinsky announced. Ronan shoved Kavinsky off the bed, spewing curses.


	6. Give Up Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: The Consent Discussion (1/2), referenced child abuse

“All your gods are false, just get used to it.  
Let's go out tonight, kill some stubborn myths.  
Set those ghosts alight, get into it.  
...  
No one's getting younger. Would you like a souvenir?  
Let it take you under. Feel your worries disappear.”  
- _Graveyard Whistling_ , Nothing But Thieves

Ronan was up in the wee hours, but so was Kavinsky. Sleeping on the floor was getting old and if Ronan wasn’t getting sleep, Kavinsky wasn’t going to either. At least, not while Ronan was forced to play babysitter. The rest of Kavinsky’s pack had been playing virtuous student, lately, most likely getting out of K-watch.

Literally. Babysitting.

Ronan had gone to piss and when he came back, Kavinsky had found some secret part of his stash and was bouncing off the walls again.

This morning, Ronan had a cup of spiked coffee in his hands as he watched Kavinsky attempt to hammer patterns into his mom’s unused 2005 Charger. This wasn’t high Kavinsky, though. This was pissed off and going through withdrawals.

“You need a hobby,” Ronan shouted over the hammering.

“I have hobbies.”

“Drugs and destruction of property are crimes, not hobbies,” Ronan added, and Kavinsky just cackled, nearly hitting his hand with the hammer on the next swing. He cursed and Ronan rolled his eyes.

He took a sip of his coffee. Ronan knew that his own reliance on alcohol was growing similar to Kavinsky’s reliance on drugs. Ronan also figured he’d solve that problem when he got to it.

“Why’d you know I need therapy?” Kavinsky asked as swung again.

“Are you shitting me? Because I have eyes,” Ronan grumped. Kavinsky didn’t even pause in his designing. Ronan wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a butterfly or skull. Or maybe Kavinsky was just enjoying hammering the shit out of his mother’s property.

“You said…rehab was never going to work unless I went to therapy. Why did you know that?” Kavinsky stepped over to Ronan, hammer balanced on his shoulders as he panted. Part of Ronan screamed to defend himself, but the other knew he could move faster than an unwillingly sober Kavinsky.

“You have to get over your control issues before you give up control. For one,” Ronan offered.

“Best way to get over control issues is to give up control.” Kavinsky threw the hammer back at the car and missed entirely. It clattered to the ground under the car.

“And are you willing to do that?” Ronan raised an eyebrow, but Kavinsky just scratched his neck and mumbled for a moment.

“For two?”

“You can’t wake yourself up from the high if, when you wake yourself up, you want to die.”

“Sounds like a song.” Kavinsky held his hands out and twirled before dropping to an army crawl to retrieve his hammer.

“You have to want to live before you can learn how to do it sober.” Ronan cocked his head as Kavinsky cursed, hitting his head against the undercarriage of the car.

“What if the drugs kill me first?” Kavinsky scuttled back out, covered in dust and dried oil.

“I’ll try my best not to let them,” Ronan answered and Kavinsky grinned. “Like I said, you need a hobby.” He changed the subject fast before Kavinsky could comment.

Ronan kept finding himself getting closer and closer to admitting how he felt about Kavinsky _to_ Kavinsky. Which, wouldn’t mean much if Ronan thought Kavinsky could understand Ronan’s current need to wait out these feelings, see if they would last.

Ronan’s phone buzzed. Adam was in school and asking why Ronan wasn’t. Ronan fought the urge to laugh hysterically.

It wasn’t the weekend yet?

“You’re coming with me to the Barns.” Ronan decided, taking the hammer from Kavinsky and putting it back on the tool bench.

“To the what?” Kavinsky wrinkled his nose.

“My farm.”

“You named it?” 

“It’s already got a name.”

“I’m not going there. Why would I?”

“To do work.”

“I don’t want to go to a farm. Let’s go to my pool instead. I can show you my backstroke.” Kavinsky mimed swimming through the air.

“We already did that. I have shit to do and being there helps.”

So Ronan drove them off to the Barns. Kavinsky prattled away about how he wasn’t no farmer, and how he wasn’t shoveling no pig shit. Ronan decided that was the first thing he’d make Kavinsky do.

After shoveling shit of various kinds, the two headed up to the house. Ronan fixed the rusty nail sticking out of the staircase as Kavinsky walked around, commenting on what he found.

“Why is your microwave singing Kesha?” Kavinsky called from the kitchen as Ronan worked on the worn wood of the staircase.

“It’s whatever’s stuck in your head,” Ronan called back.

“Is this a fortune teller ball thing?” Kavinsky walked in with a lava lamp with lava showing people.

“Dunno. I don’t think I’ve ever seen me in it.”

“What’s the point?”

“Why’s it gotta have a point?” Kavinsky shook it and nothing changed.

“Boring.” Kavinsky tossed it to the floor, but it didn’t break. Instead, it rolled over to the couch as Kavinsky sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “I thought you said you had something important to do. I imagine it’s not rubbing wood.” He cackled.

“I need to dream, but I figured I’d take you for a walk first. Get all your energy out.”

“Fuck that shit. I’m dead on my feet. Let’s sleep.” Kavinsky stepped toward Ronan, who stood and brushed the twigs out of Kavinsky’s hair. Kavinsky’s grin was hopeful, though he was clearly trying to make it cocky.

“Let’s go then.” Ronan gestured up the stairs and then snapped at Kavinsky when his foot landed on the freshly varnished wood.

Upstairs, Kavinsky gave a short gasp. Ronan glanced curiously at him as he rearranged the bed in a way that they could both lay on it, divided by pillows. “Huh. And these are your things,” Kavinsky commented.

“My things?” Ronan asked distractedly.

“Impossible things. From the impossible man.” Kavinsky tapped the wind chime that sang electronica and then moved on to stare at the painting in which there were no definable objects, but things were definitely moving with purpose. Hands on a waist, food to a mouth. Fire and water and darkness.

“Don’t call me that.” Ronan sat down on his side of the bed.

“Hey, I’m just a forger.” Kavinsky held his arms out. “You create. From your head.”

“So do you. You just…imitate.” Kavinsky wasn’t listening as he poked at the stuffed bear, expecting it to growl back. It didn’t. It was a normal stuffed bear, which brought Kavinsky too much joy when he turned back to smirk at Ronan.

“How’d you know the stuff downstairs wasn’t mine?” Ronan focused on the matter at hand.

“Wasn’t.”

“How’d you know?”

“It just wasn’t.” Kavinsky shrugged and then sat down with Ronan on his side of the bed. Ronan didn’t cede his side. Instead, he shoved Kavinsky over.

Ronan decided that maybe he understood. Looking at Niall’s impossible things had a different feel than looking at anything of Kavinsky’s. It was an indescribable knowledge.

“What are we dreaming for?” Kavinsky asked as he lay down.

“Armor.”

“Weapons?”

“No. Protection.”

“I’ve got some in your car—move the pillows, baby.”

“Fuck off. Go to sleep.” Ronan turned onto his side away from Kavinsky, reminding himself to scour his car later to be sure it was clean of anything suspicious that Adam or Gansey would later find.

In the dream, Ronan was in English class. Ronan heard Kavinsky groan, “aw hell no”, as Milo’s mouth moved. It sounded like it usually did, like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

“I thought Parrish was the one hot for teacher.” Ronan glanced around, but he couldn’t see Kavinsky. “No shit, dreamer-boy, I won’t be caught dead in a classroom, why would I be caught there, dreaming?”

Adam was in the back, staring him down.

“How—” Ronan whipped his head around, trying to figure out how Kavinsky was seeing him when he couldn’t see Kavinsky.

“Let’s change the pace here, a bit.” The scene around him was like a vignette, slowly fading to black.

Rushing water filled Ronan’s ears. He jumped up to realize he was standing back in Cabeswater beside a waterfall. “How’d you do that?” Ronan rubbed his eyes and then his ears. They were wet as if Kavinsky had just dumped the waterfall on his head.

“Control your fucking subconscious, douche. Don’t you have something better in mind than a classroom when you fall asleep?”

“What, like you do?”

“At least I didn’t put us back in school,” Kavinsky chuckled.

“How were you answering me… I wasn’t talking.” Ronan breathed.

“We’re in your subconscious, remember?” Kavinsky looked smug as Ronan forced himself not to think particular thoughts. He gazed around at the waterfall and then back to Kavinsky’s healthy face. He wondered if Kavinsky actively dreamt himself healthy or if it was subconscious. Or if it was Ronan’s own subconscious. 

“What are we here for, Ro? Didn’t I teach you anything? In and out like a thief. Why’re you staring at my face?” Kavinsky wiped his hand over his face.

“I don’t…” Ronan looked around, but couldn’t find what he was looking for. What was he looking for? What would protect—

“Unless these pine needles are your protection, you’ve failed as a thief.”

“You’re the fucking thief.”

“No shit. Now, come on, dreamer, change it up. What do you fucking want?” Kavinsky knelt down in front of Ronan, where he was still seated on the floor. When Ronan looked at him, Kavinsky’s eyes were slit like a snake’s and his tongue came out forked.

For a split second, Ronan saw horror on Kavinsky’s face that seamlessly flickered back into the snake’s. What did Kavinsky see on Ronan’s face, Ronan wondered?

“To wake up.”

He opened his eyes, facing the pillow mound between them. He could just make out Kavinsky’s hair on the other side. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Kavinsky sat up and stretched. He reached over and touched a finger to Ronan’s lips. Ronan shook with the effort to move, to punch him. As Kavinsky wrapped his hand around Ronan’s cheek, Ronan jerked away and batted at him. “Fucking finally.”

“Why do you think that’s okay?” Ronan’s voice cracked.

“Because I’m a bad person, that’s why.” Kavinsky looked him over and then yawned.

“Jesus, K.”

“I should’a let you stay in that classroom. Maybe you’d’a learned something.”

“That you’re an asshole?”

“But then, you never listen to your betters.”

“What, and you fucking do?” Ronan was itching for a fight now. He stepped around the bed, but Kavinsky didn’t rise from where he was sitting.

“I learned enough to do chemistry, didn’t I?” Instead, Kavinsky lay back down and stared up at Ronan.

“You dreamt that shit.”

“And I had to know its basic composition.”

“Get up.”

“How’d you get the car, Lynch?”

“Get up!”

“Remember? You forgot the engine!” Kavinsky’s eyes closed as he rubbed his temples.

“ _Get the fuck up_.”

“Can’t hit me lying down?” Kavinsky’s grin was leathery over his teeth, splitting his lip that seemed to refuse to scab over permanently. Ronan remembered what Kavinsky had called it, _the first gift Ronan gave him_. “Fucking do it.”

Ronan sat down beside Kavinsky’s legs, his own legs unable to hold him up anymore. “I don’t have to think of what it’s made of. I just have to…”

“What is it?” Kavinsky finally asked.

“Protection. Armor for Gansey.” Ronan avoided eye contact for once.

“From what, the rest of the dudes at that fucking school thirsting after him?” Kavinsky chuckled and Ronan rolled his eyes.

“He’s allergic to hornets. They’ll kill him.”

“You think you can find the wonder drug for bee stings? Have you ever worked on cancer, Lynch? Because that’s how crazy you sound.”

“A skin… an impenetrable armor.” Kavinsky just stared with a look between intrigue and disappointment. “I don’t need to know what it’s made of. You think I know what that shit is?” Ronan pointed to the glob of something on the bedside table that would randomly morph into an alarm clock, a cup of water, tissues.

“And what, would he wear it? All the time? Wouldn’t it get hot and gross? Did you think this through at all, Ronan?” Kavinsky sat up beside Ronan, but Ronan didn’t look at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Aren’t you always the one telling me the dream world isn’t like the real world? Things aren’t that simple.”

“Fuck. You. I can do what I want and when I want it.”

“I believe you,” Kavinsky answered, softer than usual. “So, figure it out, dreamer.” Ronan glanced at him carefully, but then Kavinsky lurched forward, his hand wrapping around Ronan’s neck.

Ronan shoved him off and stood back up. “Dammit, K. _Fuck_! Haven’t you gone over your consent issues yet?”

“I know you want it.” Kavinsky’s confidence cracked a little. “I was in your head.”

 _Yeah, fuck,_ Ronan thought.

“That’s not how that works,” Ronan snapped, happy to assist the shatter of that confidence.

“I was eleven,” Kavinsky blurted, and Ronan blinked. “Dear old daddy gave me to them. Told them to have fun with me.” There was a long silence as he dropped his head down to stare at his own lap. “If they could take what they wanted from me, why can’t I take what I want?” His voice was rough.

Ronan felt that he was not the best person for Kavinsky to be having this conversation with. “That’s not how it works,” Ronan repeated and gulped. “You don’t take from people when other people have taken from you.”

“So, I’m left with nothing?”

“No.” Ronan forced himself to breathe. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he swayed back and forth on his feet. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit Kavinsky for his audacity, but he knew Kavinsky was trying. Kavinsky was learning, however slowly. Ronan couldn’t hit him, not now. It was too easy to break Kavinsky and right now, Kavinsky seemed to want it. That wasn’t encouraging. “You get to ask. And then people will give willingly.” Ronan placed his hand on Kavinsky’s head and winced at how frail the boy’s hair felt, like it would break off in his hand.

“Will you?” Kavinsky wouldn’t look up now.

“Not yet.”

“Why not? What difference does it make? You can come back tomorrow and decide you don’t want me. I’m used to it enough.” Kavinsky glared at his lap.

“Because when I choose you, I want you to choose me too. Once and for all. Not off and on. It will be a definite decision, not a day-to-day choice. For both of us. You think you’ll be capable of that?”

“I don’t know, Lynch. I mean, I already choose you day-to-day, every day. There hasn’t been an off day yet.”

“No?” Ronan pressed.

Kavinsky answered immediately, “no.” Ronan stared a little longer, watching as Kavinsky actually considered the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “No,” he repeated, and Ronan sat back down. Kavinsky rested his hand against Ronan’s chest and for the time being, Ronan let him.

“Talk to your therapist.”

Ronan had a feeling he should follow his own advice too.


	7. Getting There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: The Consent Discussion (2/2), referenced suicidal thoughts

“Sometimes we never get started. No one will give you a wake up call.  
Sometimes the hours are wasted. No one will give you a wake up call.  
We need another rush, something to fill our days.  
It lies in wait for us, it lives on empty space.”  
- _Wake Up Call_ , Nothing But Thieves

“What the fuck is that,” Kavinsky commented when they dreamed next. Going to the Barns had become a pastime of theirs. They’d check on the animals, varnish the staircase and dream. The dreams were nightmares and they couldn’t figure out how to fix them.

Now, as they woke in Cabeswater, the Orphan Girl sat in front of them.

“You teach her a bad word and I’m going to do a bad word to you,” Ronan grumbled, and Kavinsky smiled, open-mouthed to retort, but Ronan stopped him. “And not the good kind.”

“Good bad words?” The Orphan Girl asked Ronan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan grumbled back. “This is… well, I don’t know. I just call her Orphan Girl.”

“And you bashed Bubbles’s name?” Kavinsky asked. The dragon appeared then and perched on Kavinsky’s shoulder. He cooed at it.

“She’s been…gone. Where have you been?” Ronan asked her.

“Oh man!” Kavinsky was already distracted. Ronan was pretty sure he had snuck some coke earlier that day, but he had no way of proving it beyond Kavinsky’s weird excitability. “Look, Dick shed!” He held up a shimmery skin, half caught in the dirt below. “Is he like a snake? I didn’t know you dreamed him!”

“I didn’t, moron.” Ronan stepped over and took the skin. It was like fabric in his hands. He stared in awe, but then clouds moved in.

This feeling was all too familiar at this point. Just like Kavinsky’s rats. The classroom, the snake eyes. The night terrors. A nightmare was coming.

“Kerah!” The Orphan Girl called sadly, and Bubbles cooed.

“We can’t leave them.” Kavinsky looked out at the clouds while Ronan tried to unbury the protective skin.

“Leave what?” Ronan grunted.

“The kid and Bubbles.” Bubbles cooed as he rested his head in Kavinsky’s neck. Kavinsky jumped slightly when the dragon exhaled sparks. 

“The kid?” Ronan didn’t miss Kavinsky’s smug glance.

“She’s got goat legs.”

“This’ll pass once we leave.” Ronan waved a dismissive hand. The hair on his arms was standing on edge.

“No!” The Orphan Girl called and Ronan glanced back at her. “ _Periculosum_.”

“Here, help me with this.” Ronan told Kavinsky, but the Orphan Girl was clinging to Kavinsky now. Kavinsky, who was white as a ghost. Ronan glanced behind him once more, but all he could see was blackness.

He turned to look back to Kavinsky, but they were already engulfed. “ _No!_ ” The word was swallowed whole. Ronan was conscious, but all around him was black and not a sound was to be heard. Something tugged on his leg. It felt as if his foot had fallen through the dirt. It tugged on his arms as he tried desperately to remove the armor from the grip of whatever this was. He didn’t focus on the thing pulling on him, but on the armor. He needed the armor to come back. He needed—

It was like his ears popped as he awoke. The light was painful against his eyes, but he opened them. Peering down at him was Kavinsky and beside him…

“Boy, are we in for some shit, now.” Kavinsky cackled.

***

“Gansey,” Blue said when she opened the backseat door to the Pig to see Ronan and Kavinsky cozied up on one side. Both had their arms crossed over their chest. While Kavinsky pouted, Ronan looked like he was trying hard to remain blank-faced.

“Yes, Jane. Hello,” Gansey replied.

“Why is there a douchebag in your backseat?”

“Why, Jane, you know Ronan,” Gansey answered, and nobody laughed, though Kavinsky snorted.

“Thought her name was Blue-something,” Kavinsky grunted. She noted that he was wrapped in a jacket and still shivering despite the humidity.

“It is. Gansey thinks he’s cute,” Ronan sneered.

“Thinks _he’s_ cute, or _she_ —” Gansey pulled the lever on his seat which lead to him collapsing into Kavinsky’s lap. Kavinsky swore and readjusted his glasses on his face.

“I’m so sorry, Joseph, what was that you were saying?” Gansey interrupted. “Oh yes, this is Blue. Blue, this is Kavinsky.”

“We’ve met.” Blue got in beside Ronan. Kavinsky didn’t ask when, but he was thinking it. “What’s happening?” Blue asked as Gansey began back down the road.

Gansey didn’t precisely _explain_ that Ronan had become a father in a day, but he sure sniped at Ronan about it. Ronan sniped back. Kavinsky gave the occasional chortle.

“GANSEY BOY!” A voice cried from outside of Gansey’s open window.

“Fucking p—possum crunchy.” Kavinsky about jumped out of his skin at the sound of that voice.

“Is that a common Aglionby insult?” Blue asked.

“I think it’s a Jersey thing,” Ronan offered.

When Ronan and Adam made fun of Henry, Kavinsky watched and gave the occasional smirk. Only Blue saw how Ronan would glance Kavinsky’s way to see if he approved.

Henry Cheng appeared and did a double take at seeing Kavinsky. “Gansey, there’s a cocaine stash in your back seat. You might want to get rid of it. Cops are hiding out about a street down.”

“Fuck you too, Cheng,” Ronan called.

“Oh look, the puppy’s there, too. Hey, Blue.” Henry gave her a nod and she just stared back, jaw slack and eyes narrowed. “Adam.” He gave Adam a wink.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Cheng?” Gansey asked, redirecting Henry’s attention.

“Your, um, tailgate…is open. I think.”

“My… _oh_. Ronan. The _tailgate_ is open.” Gansey repeated, and Ronan looked back.

“Stay _down_ ,” he hissed, and Blue looked back to find a child sitting in the rear cargo area, clutching what Blue hoped was a stuffed dragon. It blinked up at her. Not so plush.

Blue turned to face forward again, but her eyes caught Kavinsky’s. “Congratulations,” she told him. “She looks like the perfect combination of the two of you.”

They both protested rather vulgarly.

Once they reached Cabeswater, the Orphan Girl pitched a mini fit. Seeing as Ronan knew Kavinsky, this wasn’t much to have to deal with. The dragon dive-bombing him as Kavinsky cackled on the other hand…

“You know, Lynch, they may have a point. If they’re agreeing?” Kavinsky remarked, and Ronan glared at him.

“They’ll be fine. My mom’s in there,” Ronan responded. Kavinsky held his hands up in surrender and stepped back off to pace over crunchy leaves.

“Why did you say that?” Blue asked as they started into the forest. Ronan was up front, bickering with the child while Adam followed close behind.

Kavinsky bristled at being addressed. At first, Blue thought he might ignore her or give her some snide comment. But then she saw the way he avoided her eyes even from behind his glasses. “Our dreams are getting more dangerous. Things keep going wrong. If the dream things are against this place just as much as they were our nightmares, I think we should listen to ‘em.”

“Cabeswater’s safe,” Blue insisted, and Kavinsky only snorted.

When they reached Aurora, Ronan seemed both anxious and wary to introduce Kavinsky. Aurora spoke with the girl and then finally Kavinsky stepped up at Ronan’s constant head wagging. Bubbles was wrapped around his arm at this point, begging in dragon not to be left behind.

“Mom, this is Joseph.”

“Oh, my dear, you are so strong.” She reached forward and gently cradled Kavinsky’s jaw in her hands. He stared back, unsure of how to react to this dream’s kindness. He placed his hand on her arm, but didn’t force her any which way. All he could think of was how tired he was.

Aurora pet Bubbles, who, at first, seemed confused, but then got used to it and preened under her touch. Aurora giggled, but then she turned to Gansey and sighed.

“I think I need to show you something.”

***

“Black goo.” Kavinsky voiced when they arrived at Monmouth that evening. Ronan had decided that it was his turn to sleep at home, but Kavinsky’s friends weren’t up for K-watch. So, Kavinsky joined Ronan.

“Will you shut up about it?” Ronan snapped back.

“Seems a little dreamish to me,” Kavinsky whispered when they entered Ronan’s room.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“And if the dream girl is offended by the dream goo in the dream world—”

“Fucking hell. I’m too tired for this shit. You get the floor.” Ronan fought his own shirt off and plopped down on the bed, pulling his shoes off next.

“Really?” Kavinsky eyed the ground.

“Fuck, what, yes? Really.” Ronan rolled his eyes and threw a sleeping bag on the floor.

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed at the Barns, if you’ll remember.” Kavinsky’s arms were crossed over his chest.

“This bed is smaller.”

“This floor is concrete.” Kavinsky looked away from him and scratched at his arm.

“You could go home.” The desire that passed Kavinsky’s face would’ve been invisible to anyone other than Ronan.

“I won’t touch you.” He continued to avoid eye contact.

“K—”

“My therapist said to talk to you.” Kavinsky cut in, but was still staring out the window into the blackness of the night.

“What?”

“I told him you said to talk to him about consent and he said a bunch of shit and then said I should talk to you about what it means.” Kavinsky ran his fingers through his hair.

“I—what?”

“Consent is to wait for verbal permission,” Kavinsky recited, standing ramrod straight and then bending over into his usual sprawling stance with a short look at Ronan.

“Do you understand what those words mean?” Ronan mocked.

“I won’t touch you without your permission. Hell, I won’t touch anyone unless I’m punching their daylights out.” Kavinsky stalked over to Ronan’s dresser and played with the pointless dream objects laid out.

“Like you could even.” Ronan had watched Kavinsky’s musculature fade over the past few months. Kavinsky could probably start a fight as he was wont to do, but he wouldn’t finish it. Not conscious, anyway.

“What more do you want from me?” Kavinsky held his hands out dramatically.

“Rehab.”

“Getting there. Step two?” Kavinsky gave him the flattest look.

“Commitment?” Ronan glared back.

“I’ve given you that.”

“Calling me over when you’ve got two whores sucking you off isn’t commitment, K! It’s the total fucking opposite!” Ronan snapped and Kavinsky seemed to inhale sharply at this. They both went silent for a while.

Kavinsky hesitantly stepped over to the bed to stand in front of Ronan where he sat. He looked down at him, but his gaze shifted to the floor every few seconds. “We don’t use that word, Ro; we respect people’s occupations.” Kavinsky poked Ronan’s nose and Ronan rolled his eyes. “I did that to piss you off.”

“I know.”

“So what? We were both pissed off.” Kavinsky sat down beside him, but this made Ronan rise from where he was sitting.

“That’s what I don’t want! I don’t want—!” Ronan cursed again, not quite believing he was defining the relationship with Kavinsky. “I don’t want you screwing around because you’re pissed off.”

“I’m allowed to be pissed.” Kavinsky glared up at him.

“No shit, so am I. Doesn’t mean I’m going to overstep my boundaries.”

“Oh, I have boundaries, do I?” Kavinsky’s legs were shaking where his arms rested against them.

“If you want it!” Ronan hissed, prodding a finger in his direction. “If you want me, then, yes. There will be boundaries. Life has boundaries.”

“If you’ll recall, I don’t want much of what life has to offer, either!” Kavinsky snapped back, standing abruptly so that they were face to face once more.

“S’ppose you’ll have to get that figured out first, too.”

“Fuck you! That’s never gonna change!”

“Life has me to offer, K!” Ronan shook Kavinsky’s shoulders, but Kavinsky did nothing to stop him. Ronan was as rattled as Kavinsky was at how feeble Kavinsky felt under Ronan’s grip. “Life has, fuck…” Ronan stepped back and scratched at his neck. “Life has cars. Speed. Alcohol. Glory. Fucking swimming pools!”

Kavinsky scoffed, staring at the ground once more.

Ronan practically growled in response, “get off your high horse and realize there are some things in life worth living for. You aren’t as much of a hopeless douchebag as you want people to believe.”

“Have to maintain my reputation,” Kavinsky enunciated.

“Not around me.”

“I won’t change for you.”

Ronan threw his hands in the air. Once again wishing he could punch something. Once again remembering that Kavinsky was currently too fragile, mentally and physically, to take it. “Then don’t. Change for yourself because you ain’t getting shit until you do. And that shit will make you a bit happier, don’t you think?”

There was another long silence. Kavinsky swayed on his feet and Ronan sat back down on his bed, running his hands over his shaved head.

“I won’t touch you,” Kavinsky repeated, his eyes drooping where he stood.

Ronan gave in. He separated them once again with pillows, though this left both of them clinging to the edge. Kavinsky didn’t complain. Ronan sighed as he lay down, ready to pass out immediately, but he felt Kavinsky shaking the bed with his shivering. Ronan tossed him the rest of the covers, which Kavinsky willingly accepted.

“You’re just upset because you were suddenly burdened with fatherhood,” Kavinsky commented, a clear laugh evident in his tone. Ronan just grunted back. “Commitment to what?” Kavinsky asked randomly and Ronan’s eyes blinked open.

“K, I’m…” _Too tired for this shit._ “To…life. To me?”

“I’m committed to you.”

“You like me. You’re not committed to anything.”

Kavinsky grunted back, “you’ll see.”

***

Ronan woke gasping, which inevitably woke Kavinsky as well. He had had a dreamless sleep, in contrast, it seemed, to Ronan’s nightmares. Ronan was still paralyzed where he lay, but Kavinsky groaned, sitting up and looking down at Ronan. Kavinsky could hear his own joints crack and pop, and he wondered if he’d aged fifty years over night. Weirder things had happened while they slept.

“You’re okay, doofus. You didn’t bring anything back. We’re okay,” Kavinsky promised those wandering, fearful eyes.

Finally, Ronan shot up and coughed as if he’d been drowned. “Relax,” Kavinsky urged. Ronan reached out, and at first, Kavinsky thought he was going for a hug, but then he found the phone on the nightstand beside Kavinsky. “Calling anyone at this time of night, unless they’re on the other side of the world—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan snapped, and with the way he sounded, Kavinsky shut the fuck up.

Instead, Kavinsky listened to Ronan call his brother. The younger one that Kavinsky had once kidnapped. The kid was fine, as Kavinsky expected. Ronan tossed the phone back at Kavinsky when he was finished and Kavinsky sighed, placing it back on the bedside table and closing his eyes to fall back asleep.


	8. Go to Therapy

“The day and the night don't separate.  
This ache for you starts to dominate.  
I'm finding it hard to concentrate.  
I want you to be happy.  
I wait for you like a prisoner.  
Whatever it is that moves in us it's starting to feel a lot like love.”  
- _Hostage_ , Nothing But Thieves

“You missed Raven Day,” Gansey said the next evening when Ronan arrived home.

“Boo.” Ronan grumped, tossing his shoes halfway across the room rather than taking them off like a normal human.

“Did you know Noah founded it?”

“Hoo.” Ronan peeled off his shirt next, and rightfully so, as it seemed close to a hundred degrees in Monmouth.

“Noah. Your dead friend.”

“Nah, yeah. And? He’d probably ditch shit like that in this day and age too.”

“I haven’t seen him in while. Have you?” Gansey scratched at his cheek with the back of his hand as he assembled another cardboard building. 

“Noah? No. Well.” Ronan blinked as he thought about it. Dreams and reality were meshing lately. Nightmares and the horrors of school. “No?”

“Where’s your man-child?” Ronan couldn’t bring himself to resent that title.

“Swan’s taking him for the evening.” Ronan had threatened to drop Kavinsky off at a rehab center himself, so Kavinsky’s friends finally decided to step in. Today featured Kavinsky vomiting his guts out and then stating he was hungry. It was a fun mix. Ronan had had enough of it and decided it was his day off.

“Good, so you can come with us. Henry’s throwing a toga party.”

“A fucking what?”

Ronan had no intentions of going to a toga party. Instead, he planned to spend the evening with Adam, which Kavinsky gave him all sorts of crap for— _“Found another magical boyfriend, Lynch?”_

Of course, the magical night only lasted so long, ending with stitches in Blue’s eye, and Ronan’s car packed like a clown’s with a raven, a hooved child and a docile dragon. Adam offered to come along, but Ronan didn’t feel Adam would approve of his eventual destination.

“Lynch. Is this a phone call?” Kavinsky asked over the Bluetooth in Ronan’s car.

“Not a real one. You were right. Cabeswater isn’t safe. I’ve got the kid and the lizard with me. You want him at the Barns?”

There was a long silence. “Did you fall asleep?” Ronan snapped, angry enough that he had to be awake. Angry enough he had to admit Kavinsky was right, and do so on the phone, nonetheless.

“I want him here.”

“You sure that’s safe with all the drug busts and parties?” Ronan barked back, but then remembered what a low blow that was at the moment.

“Drop your kid off and come over, asshole,” Kavinsky answered, and then hung up. Without any better ideas, Ronan did as he was told.

“Can’t keep away, darling?” Kavinsky asked when Ronan arrived, greeting him at the door. He stepped right up into Ronan’s face. Ronan backed off instinctively, an arm held out to stop Kavinsky, who just lifted his hands in a dramatic shrug, remaining where he was. He looked like he had two black eyes.

Bubbles flew onto his shoulders and nuzzled behind his neck. “Come inside, Lynch. To my den of vipers and debauchery.” Kavinsky waved him through, and Ronan finally relaxed, following him into the kitchen. “Why don’t you explain what happened then?” Kavinsky pressed, handing Ronan a cup of something alcoholic. It was the only standard Ronan currently held.

And so, Ronan explained his night, as well as Blue’s and Gansey’s. “I think this affects me as well,” Kavinsky stated when Ronan had finished. The sun was rising. Ronan was pretty sure Chainsaw was asleep on his shoulder.

“How’s that?” Ronan questioned.

“I haven’t told you about my dreams.”

“Tonight?”

“Well, yeah. And every night. You’ve been there for most.” Kavinsky looked down at his lap.

“Okay, yeah. So what’s your point, K?”

“Fuck, Ro. I don’t want to be the damsel worrying and awaiting your return from the war. I want to be out there with you.” Kavinsky paced, his arms expressive in the air.

“The fuck—”

“Next time, I don’t want to be the last person you tell about this shit.” Ronan made eye contact and finally understood. Kavinsky wanted to come on their _adventures_.

“Get sober.” Kavinsky cursed at him. “You’re too shaky now to do anything. What, you think you can hike through caves of dead people like this?”

“You do it wanting to punch everyone.”

Ronan wasn’t sure if he wasn’t understanding or if Kavinsky honestly wasn’t making sense. “That doesn’t… follow.”

“Gone to therapy yet?” Kavinsky asked snidely.

“Have you stopped vomiting?” Ronan mimicked him, and Kavinsky held a hand out as if that explained everything. Ronan gave up. “Fuck, I need to sleep. Is Swan still here?”

“Jiang’s on duty. Sleeping on my floor.”

“Doing shit at his job, then, huh?”

“Dosed up about an hour before you called, so guess so.” Kavinsky shrugged, and Ronan rolled his eyes.

Ronan led the way back up to Kavinsky’s room. He stepped into the bathroom and stripped the place to be sure there were no more drugs. He turned on some blaringly obnoxious music on his phone, grabbed a desk chair and then gestured for Kavinsky to enter the bathroom before him, dragon on Kavinsky’s shoulder. Kavinsky did, seemly purely out of curiosity. Once Kavinsky was inside, Ronan slammed the door and wedged the chair under the handle. He placed his phone, still blaring, on top of the chair.

“Hey!” Kavinsky called from the inside.

At this point Jiang was definitely awake. He stared up at Ronan in confusion.

“Coffee’s downstairs. Don’t fall asleep again and don’t let him out ‘til he’s sober again, douchebag. Don’t let him sleep. I’m getting my few hours of sleep on the couch and then you’re off duty for forever,” Ronan explained.

Jiang had the wisdom not to respond but join him in the trek downstairs to get coffee while Ronan passed out on the couch.

***

When Ronan woke up, Chainsaw was ripping a newspaper to shreds. Kavinsky was turning pages in a book beside him and the shirt he was wearing looked oddly familiar. “Again?” Ronan rolled his eyes when he realized it was his own muscle tank that Kavinsky wore.

“Again what?” Kavinsky blinked up at him and then stood, walking into the kitchen. Part of Ronan felt that he should probably follow, but another part reminded him that this was the comfiest couch he had ever slept on.

Ronan was just pissed that Kavinsky had found another one of his articles of clothing to steal. It was a muscle tank, so it wasn’t like it had sleeves. He couldn’t think of any reason Kavinsky might be wearing that shirt unless he was _trying_ to piss Ronan off.

Or something.

Kavinsky stepped back up to him a few minutes later with a cup of coffee in his hands. Ronan sat up and took it. “Black. Virgin,” Kavinsky commented.

“Thanks,” Ronan answered.

“You need a better password for your phone, Dick’s bitch,” Kavinsky added and Ronan huffed. “Also, your raven shat on my couch.” He pointed behind Ronan’s head and Ronan made a note not to lean his head back.

Then Kavinsky dug around in his pockets for a moment before offering Ronan something in his fist. Ronan held his hand out, wondering if it was going to be a dead bug.

It wasn’t.

“What did you just give me,” Ronan stated rather than asked.

“Seeds.” Kavinsky answered matter-of-factly.

“What kind?”

“Shit if I know. Dreamt up something.”

“What the hell.”

“You said you want to be a farmer, so.” Kavinsky shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Jiang and I also topped off your gas tank.”

“I—” Ronan stopped himself, unsure of what to say to that.

“Can you at least tell me if I’m wasting my time?”

_Oh._

“Of course, you’re not. I would’ve told you.” Ronan sighed. “Thanks for the seeds, man. Here’s hoping they grow into something edible and not, you know, like, an edible.” Kavinsky grinned and stood taller, clearly proud of himself.

“Jiang said we couldn’t take your car to get groceries, so we still need those.”

“What?”

“We’re out of cereal, man. And wine. I want my red. I think I’m low on toothpaste too. Everyone’s been using it.” Ronan wrinkled his nose. “Also toilet paper.”

“Can’t you dream this shit? You dreamt me seeds.”

“I also really want to get out of the house for something normal.” Kavinsky propped his head up on his hand, elbow on his knee. Bubbles flew over and landed on his shoulders, curling up behind his neck.

“Should we take Bubbles to the Barns?” Ronan suggested, still slightly surprised at Kavinsky’s sudden transparency.

“Nope. Want him here.”

“If you think it’s safe.” Ronan gave a weak shrug.

And so, they went grocery shopping. Kavinsky chose inopportune times to ask Ronan things like, “hey, have you reconsidered therapy?” like when they were standing next to some old lady in the ice cream aisle. Ronan just glared back.

As they were exiting, they got stuck behind the same lady talking to one of her friends in the walkway. Ronan refrained from asking her if she knew she was being a fire hazard. Kavinsky’s fingers wrapped around Ronan’s shirt sleeve and tugged. Then he gently allowed his fingertips to brush Ronan’s arm. Ronan looked him over, but Kavinsky’s attention was elsewhere.

Beside the door was a bulletin board advertising things like missing pets, bingo night, and free shirts if you sign up for...

Ronan wasn’t quite sure what had caught Kavinsky’s attention, but Kavinsky walked over and looked closer at the ad for a cashier position.

“What, you want to work here?” Ronan asked, still barely able to distract himself from how annoying this lady was being since she _still hadn’t fucking moved._ Kavinsky looked around the store for a moment and then shrugged.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He said it loud enough that the lady finally realized she was in their way. Still, she glowered as they pushed past her.

“I could get a job here,” Kavinsky insisted as they loaded the car.

“Sure, but why would you want to? Don’t you want something more…” Ronan faltered as Kavinsky stared blankly, waiting for an end to that sentence. “Mind occupying? You’re easily distracted.”

“Sure, when I’m high. We’re trying to get me off that, sweetheart.” Kavinsky gave Ronan’s cheek a pat.

“That’s not just when you’re high.” Ronan closed the trunk as Kavinsky rode the shopping cart back to the store. Ronan gave a short smile.

“Where should I work then? Retail?” Kavinsky asked when he jumped into the passenger seat.

“Definitely not. Why not a waiter job?”

Kavinsky cocked his head, considering. He changed the subject. “So, have you thought about therapy? Honestly.”

“Why do you think _I_ need therapy?” Ronan rolled his eyes.

“You wanted that bitch deader than I did.”

“Did not!” Ronan blushed at the way his voice squeaked.

Kavinsky cackled. “You’re angry. And an alcoholic.”

“You see that because you’re an addict,” Ronan snapped back, and Kavinsky paused.

“Are you defending yourself or agreeing with me?” Kavinsky finally asked and Ronan could sense that his own face was only getting redder.

“I—I’ve considered it. What do—” Ronan sighed, pounding his hand on the edge of the steering wheel. Kavinsky gave a little wave of his hand and Ronan grunted. “What do you say about being a thief?”

“That I am one.” Kavinsky smirked.

“And he hasn’t locked you up?”

“I showed him.”

“You didn’t.” Ronan turned to face Kavinsky, who raised an eyebrow and gave a nod.

“I said yes, he said no, I said, ‘give me ten minutes; Doc, I’ll prove it to you.’ And then I did,” Kavinsky explained with an evil grin. “Come to Jones, Ro. He already knows our worst secrets.”

“Does he?” Ronan grumbled and K didn’t bother answering.

They drove in silence for a few minutes more. “Maybe a club would hire me,” Kavinsky suggested.

“That’s a horrible idea.” Kavinsky chortled. Finally, Ronan parked, back at Kavinsky’s. “I’ll go to therapy when you go to rehab.”

“I’ll go to rehab when you go to therapy,” Kavinsky countered. “Anyway. Where are we going next? Let’s go somewhere. Let’s… blow shit up.”

Ronan considered this. There was still a fairground full of nearly identical Mitsubishis. So, they went to blow shit up. 

***

“You know what fucks me up?” Ronan asked on Monday after school. He stormed into Monmouth with Kavinsky on his heels. Somehow, they both went to school. Somehow, Kavinsky ended up in Ronan’s car on the way home.

Gansey and Blue were inside, sitting casually on the floor with books strewn around them. Kavinsky and Ronan both stared for a moment, suspecting what had just been happening, but not really in the mood to point it out.

“Do tell, what fucks you up, Ronan?” Blue called.

“People asking me what I’m doing with my future,” Ronan answered, as if it weren’t at all odd for him to be having a semi-civil conversation that started with Kavinsky and ended with Blue. “And then them telling me I need better goals.”

“Let me guess, rock star in Los Angeles?” Blue offered. Ronan just glared, lying back on Gansey’s bed while Kavinsky sat beside him, bouncing slightly and rubbing at his temples.

“And what about you, Turquoise? Fashionista?” Ronan sneered and Blue just rolled her eyes.

“Can’t imagine what I’m doing next year. Never really thought I’d live long enough,” Kavinsky added casually, lying down just as Ronan sat up. Ronan flicked his nose and removed Kavinsky’s glasses. 

“Why are you afraid of living?” Ronan grumbled to him, not looking away, or allowing Kavinsky to do so. For once, Kavinsky didn’t seem to care.

He held his hands out in front of him to explain. “So, you live. And after that, things become monotonous. Routine. What happens when things stop being interesting?”

“People are adaptable and so are you. Find a new interest,” Ronan answered quietly.

Gansey cleared his throat. “Hello, we’re still here.”

“Then leave.” Ronan held Kavinsky’s glasses up to the light and saw all the scratches on them. Kavinsky needed new glasses.

“Are those doing anything to help your vision or are they really just obstructing your view and you enjoy the risk?” Gansey asked. Kavinsky snatched the glasses back and put them back on. Ronan smirked as Kavinsky scowled.

“What’s life without a little risk?” Ronan answered for him. Kavinsky pulled the glasses off dramatically to glare at Ronan, who just laughed.

“Fine. I’ll be a racer ‘til I get bored with it. Then I’ll sell glasses that never scratch.”

“Yeah, when you figure out how to dream them that way,” Ronan offered.

“Will too,” Kavinsky practically whined.

“I believe you,” Ronan promised.

“Is this flirting?” Blue stage-whispered to Gansey. Ronan and Kavinsky both held up their middle fingers. Ronan heard Gansey sigh.


	9. More Important Shit

“Sometimes you're thrust against the wall.  
Sometimes the world wants to see you crawl.  
...Six billion lives looking for love, and you can't decide if it's enough…  
The end is the same for everyone. Should be enough for us to be as one.  
Watch me fall apart over you. Watch me fall apart trying to please you.”  
- _Six Billion_ , Nothing But Thieves

Ronan was clearly in a hurry and Kavinsky hated what this implied.

_Adventures._

Without him.

They were in Proko’s car, since Proko refused to let Kavinsky drive around shaky and in withdrawal. Such as it was, Proko needed gas before they could go participate in any general tomfoolery.

Kavinsky watched as Ronan ran a red at which there were no cars and pulled into the gas station. “Woah, woah, Lynch. Where are you headed in such a hurry? I don’t remember setting a time and place for a race. You wouldn’t be racing with others, now, would you?”

“It’s my birthday.” Ronan made a split-second decision. “Are you coming?”

“What?” Kavinsky’s eyebrows raised from behind his glasses.

“Get in. We’re going to the Barns.” Ronan pointed to his car as he ran into the gas station store. Kavinsky didn’t like what that seeming thoughtlessness implied either, but he jumped out of the car, grumbling all the while.

“Really, K?” Proko called.

“Go hang with Jiang. He’ll be a good influence on you,” Kavinsky remarked. Proko flipped him off and sped out of the gas station.

When Ronan headed back for his car, he saw Kavinsky leaning against the driver’s side door. “You’re not driving,” Ronan informed him, and Kavinsky rolled his eyes, standing on his own two feet, too close to Ronan to be considered comfortable, but not close enough that they were touching. Ronan’s eyebrows were furrowed somewhere between a glare and confusion, but he didn’t back away.

“Happy birthday, fool,” Kavinsky stated. Ronan stepped away from him and motioned for Kavinsky to go back to the passenger seat, where he was usually delegated these days. Kavinsky did as he was told.

“Who’s coming?” Kavinsky asked when he jumped in the car. Chainsaw was a little wary to give up her seat, but compromised by sitting on Kavinsky’s lap. Kavinsky shifted in his seat. For no foreseeable reason, his back hurt.

“Who do you think? The usual suspects. And my brothers,” Ronan murmured the last bit, and Kavinsky guffawed.

“A Ronan family get-together. I’m honored.”

“Yeah, well. You should be.”

When they reached the Barns, it was just the brothers so far. Kavinsky’s smirk went from leathery and cheek to cheek to wide eyes hidden behind glasses and a slightly agape jaw as he watched Ronan interact with his brothers on his own turf.

They were greeted at the door by the younger blonder one. He was smiling when he welcomed Ronan in and then turned to Kavinsky, who stiffened. The smile on the blondie’s face diminished ever so slightly, but he held his hand out. “I forgive you,” he stated. Kavinsky’s heart practically stopped.

He stared for probably way too long as he considered those words. Forgiveness? Was he allowed that? Was he worthy of that?

It wasn’t even something he had considered. He’d spent his time wallowing in his own self hatred and a time after that hating himself for many other acts. But this was never an act he hated himself much for. After that first attempt with the dragon, he figured he’d done his time. He hadn’t considered that what was owed to this kid had never been given.

Ronan had forgiven him by digression. It wasn’t only Ronan that Kavinsky had wronged.

“And I’m sorry.” Kavinsky hated the way his voice cracked. The kid didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey!” He sang and his grin returned as he threw his arms out for a hug that Kavinsky had no choice in. He gave the kid a pat on the back until finally Ronan rescued him, dragging him into the house by his hand.

“Put the beer there.” Ronan gestured to the kitchen counter and then Kavinsky remembered that Ronan had handed him beer when they jumped out of the BMW.

“You’re eighteen. You shouldn’t have beer,” Declan voiced, all proud of his twenty-one years.

“Shut up, Declan,” both brothers responded. Ronan shoved Matthew over and the two began to wrestle in the kitchen.

“So,” Declan called for Kavinsky’s attention as Kavinsky stretched his neck.

“So, yourself,” Kavinsky answered, knowing this routine. The older Lynch brother was no more likely to be found in Kavinsky’s crowd than the youngest, but his reasons were vastly different. While Matthew feigned innocence, Declan filibustered transcendence. Kavinsky’s was an old practice to drag down the most sanctimonious Raven Boys.

“You’re what he’s staying for.”

“What?” Kavinsky’s old practices halted themselves in the face of something else he only had with Ronan.

“You and that king.” Kavinsky knew about Gansey’s dead king and he doubted that was Ronan’s real reasoning. The real reasoning was the ever-living, ever-delicate king that was Gansey, himself.

“I think you’ll find he’s got a bit more on his mind than me and some dead king,” Kavinsky answered. 

“Nah. He said as much.” Declan raised an eyebrow, still a little too holier-than-thou than what Kavinsky was comfortable with.

“And Ronan never lies. Maybe you should take that to heart sometime, eh, big brother?” Kavinsky sneered, staring up at Declan with all the power of an angry chihuahua. And then he stepped into the kitchen to finagle a beer from the other two brothers. 

“K, tell him meth and coke aren’t the same thing,” Ronan insisted when Kavinsky entered the room.

Kavinsky furrowed his eyebrows, removing his glasses in the low light. “Hell, no. But both’ll kill ya.”

“He’d say anything for you!” Matthew insisted.

“Don’t you have one of those stupid phones?”

“It’s called a _smart_ phone.”

“Look it up, stupid.”

“You’re stupid!”

“Lynches, the grill is hot and there’s nothing on it,” Declan called. “Bring me some damn ribs.”

“Fuck you!” Ronan called back but brought him the damn ribs as Matthew plugged his phone into a speaker system that must run all throughout the house. Kavinsky couldn’t see the speakers, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t no matter how hard he looked. This, he guessed, was Ronan’s dream object.

Kavinsky realized a little late that he hadn’t followed Ronan and was left again with the youngest brother. The youngest brother peered out the kitchen window and gave a happy cry.

“Gansey and Blue are here!” He shouted.

“Hide the beer!” Ronan shouted back. Kavinsky quickly grabbed one before Matthew could do away with them and dumped it into a cup with SpongeBob on the side.

Kavinsky reentered the entry way just as Ronan did. Ronan grabbed a bag of something and tossed it at Gansey upon his entry. “Do the balloons.”

“Hello to you too, Ronan,” Gansey concluded. He inspected the package of balloons. “Oh hell. It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“Did you fucking forget? Asshole.” Ronan smirked evilly, and Gansey just gave him a flat glance.

“Happy birthday, Lynch,” Gansey countered.

“Aw, how old are you, twelve?” Blue added, and Kavinsky couldn’t help but let out a laugh. She peered around Ronan and Gansey and stared him down a moment.

Gansey opened his mouth. “So, is—”

“Nope! Do the balloons! They hurt my fingers,” Ronan insisted and handed Blue a bundle of string.

“Says the farmer,” Kavinsky added.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make you join them.”

“Feisty!” Kavinsky placed a hand to his heart and Ronan just gave him a look in reply.

“Is Adam on his way?” Gansey asked, and Ronan gave a nod and a grunt. “And um?” Gansey gave a not-so discreet glance Kavinsky’s way.

“Yeah, he knows everything you do.”

“Probably more.” Kavinsky preened and Ronan gave him a shove, but didn’t contradict him, which did nothing for Kavinsky’s ego.

“Since when do you plan your own birthdays?” Gansey asked Ronan, seeing that there was no discretion needed or wanted since Kavinsky wasn’t leaving.

“Since Matthew’s going with Declan to D.C.” Ronan answered and Kavinsky blinked.

“Is there a reason for this change?”

“It’s only getting more dangerous, Gansey,” Ronan pointed out and Gansey gave a short nod. “Things are happening, and I don’t want Matthew caught up in the middle of it.”

 _Like before._ Kavinsky didn’t say. Maybe nobody else was even thinking it, but Kavinsky was.

“What does this mean?” Blue asked.

“The Barns is mine. And everything in it.”

“I thought it already was,” Kavinsky voiced, but Ronan just shrugged.

“He’d have you believe it,” Declan called from the grill outside.

“It’s my name in Dad’s will!”

“That you dreamt up,” Kavinsky supplied, and Ronan gave him a sarcastic glare.

“That _he_ dreamt up. Parrish is here.” Ronan ripped open the front door once more just as Adam had raised his hand to knock.

“Well. Gang’s all here,” Adam commented, giving Kavinsky the same look the rest of them had. The Orphan Girl ran in from outside to wrap herself bodily around Kavinsky's legs. He chose not to react.

“It appears we have a new permanent fixture,” Gansey offered when nobody else spoke. “Though of course, in light of that, I’d like to add another myself—”

“Nah, your fixtures require unanimous votes after Aqua-Marine over there. We didn’t tell you? Sorry, man,” Ronan explained and stepped into the backyard before Gansey could protest.

“Hey!” Blue called and went after him to smack him with the bag of balloons.

“Guess I was vetoed in.” Kavinsky gave a smirk.

“No, that was unanimous.” Adam scratched the back of his neck and Matthew plowed into the house to give him a hug. “Heya, Matthew!” Adam hugged him back with a smile that looked too old to be on his face. Kavinsky stared him down as he considered this. How much persuasion did Ronan apply to this lot? How long did it take?

What was it he had that Adam, or even Gansey, did not? He was messed up and knew it—but it had to be more than that. Kavinsky decided that, if he couldn’t determine why he cared for Ronan the way he did, he should make no attempts to understand Ronan’s care either.

“Shoes off!” Ronan shouted into the house and they all immediately bent down to remove their shoes except for Kavinsky and Matthew. “Not you, shit stains. The one that came in from the mud.” He pointed to Matthew who sheepishly removed his shoes. “You okay, Parrish? You look lost. Food. Let’s eat.” He gestured out to the backyard and they joined him.

After dinner, the Lynch brothers refused to let anyone help clean up. Ronan looked like he wouldn’t have minded the help, but Declan was the picture of a sophisticated host. Matthew was just happy to interact with his brothers outside of church, it seemed.

Gansey attempted pleasantries with Kavinsky, who shot him down all too soon. “How am I doing? How the fuck do you think I’m doing? I’m fucking going through withdrawals with too many babysitters. Why; how the fuck are you doing on your hunt for your dead king?”

“He’s not dead. He’s asleep.”

“God, how I wish they were the same,” Kavinsky added, and none of them seemed to know how to respond to that, so Gansey ignored him and gave him the first-person perspective of what Ronan had summarized in a few simple sentences. It took the rest of the Lynches’ cleaning time, but Kavinsky was fine with it. It was easy to tune out his drawl like a teacher’s than attempt to find some current common ground between them all.

When the Lynches returned, Matthew and Declan gave their goodbyes—the former teary and the latter manly. It was at that time, Ronan felt a finger against his. He glanced at Kavinsky and let their hands intertwine. Kavinsky seemed to visibly relax.

“Tonight is a night for truth,” Gansey began once Matthew and Declan were gone. Kavinsky resisted the urge to snort—it was an uncomfortable coping mechanism at this point, really.

And so, they discussed what information they had regarding Cabeswater, the ley line and the dreaming.

Ronan paced, Gansey and Blue cuddled up together. Adam grabbed coffees, Kavinsky snuck himself and Ronan more beer. The Orphan Girl tried to sample their drinks, so Adam got her juice. Ronan didn’t touch the beer. Kavinsky’s back ached.

They talked about Artemus—

“Who’s Artemus?” Kavinsky cut in.

“Blue’s dad,” Adam answered.

“He’s a tree,” Ronan added with a smirk.

“Why are you so short?” Kavinsky addressed the girl, who gave him a choice finger in reply.

“Oh my god, K, you can’t just ask people why they’re short,” Ronan snapped, cackling.

They discussed the incoming outsiders—

“They’re after K and I. We’ve got to have some defense,” Ronan insisted.

“I can take ‘em,” Kavinsky replied, flexing. Nobody was impressed.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Ronan answered.

When they brought up Henry, Kavinsky dutifully remained silent, though he still cracked a smile at the others’ jokes. Ronan threw a sweater at him, though Kavinsky hadn’t even realized he was shivering.

And then—

_“Unmaking the forest and everything attached to it.”_

Ronan stopped pacing, and the Orphan Girl whimpered. Adam went silent, and Kavinsky paled.

“What, like Ronan?” Kavinsky pressed and they all paused. “What is this thing, a demon? Do those exist?”

“What do you mean 'Ronan'? I was thinking Adam,” Gansey commented. Kavinsky looked from him, to Ronan, to Adam, and back to Ronan.

“Ronan, you should tell them,” Adam murmured. Ronan just glared.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kavinsky exclaimed. “Fuck this shit. Are you all serious? Fuck, Ronan, what the _hell_?”

Gansey and Blue gave him a look, but Kavinsky had his hands pressed to his eyes. Adam and Ronan squabbled for a moment and then Ronan said it, “fine. Fucking fine. I dreamt Cabeswater.”

They processed this and Kavinsky gave a thin grin, rubbing his neck. “You didn’t know what you had in your grasp, did you, Dick? Isn’t he something?”

“You can shut the fuck up.” Ronan pointed at him.

Kavinsky did not shut the fuck up. “Looking back, I’m surprised you got a forest, a brother, and a kid before you got a fucking car. I guess the kid is part goat, though.” The Orphan Girl bleated at him as if to concur.

“Brother?” Gansey pressed.

“Yeah, Matthew, too.” Ronan sat down and held his face in his hands. Kavinsky refrained from groaning as Ronan’s movement jostled him.

“Matthew, too,” Gansey repeated, nodding slowly.

They talked about Cabeswater and their dreams. They talked about protection for Cabeswater—for Ronan—and how little control they had over it.

They had nothing but scrying.

And it was time to go home.

Gansey and Blue left, but Adam waited. Kavinsky was shivering where he sat, beads of sweat on his forehead. “Fuck this. I’m taking a shower,” Kavinsky finally announced, and Ronan gave him a nod. He didn’t plan on driving Kavinsky back home anyway.

“How long’s he been sober?” Adam asked.

“Shit if I know. He sneaks it and doesn’t exactly tell me.”

“How is that helping?”

“Shit if I know.”

“You need to dream. I need to scry.” Adam changed the subject when he saw Ronan would not be forthcoming.

“I need to sleep. So do you, Parrish.”

“In the morning, then?” Adam asked and Ronan gave a nod. “I can—can I—?”

“Sleep in Matthew’s room.”

Upon reaching his own room, Ronan was greeted by Kavinsky walking in. “Ro, can I borrow a shhhhhitting hell.” Kavinsky’s jaw dropped as Ronan pulled on a shirt.

“Please.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “I know you’re no blushing virgin.”

“God, why are you gorgeous.” It wasn’t a question.

“I pluck my eyebrows,” Ronan answered thoughtlessly, and tossed a shirt and sweatpants at Kavinsky. “Get out.”

“Fuck yeah, you do.” Kavinsky took the clothes and headed back to the bathroom, seeming to have forgotten that he, himself, had walked in wearing nothing but a towel.

“You look better,” Ronan commented when Kavinsky meandered in again.

“Heh.” Kavinsky stepped up to Ronan where he had been standing at the window, watching the Orphan Girl run in circles. Adam stood on the porch below him, keeping a closer eye on her.

“Where’d you get it?” Ronan turned to face him, unamused. Kavinsky’s tired grin faded as he shrugged, rubbing his neck as he stared at the floor between them.

“Dreamt it.”

“And hid it in my bathroom? Or you just dreamt it right now?”

“Didn’t mean to pass out,” Kavinsky grumbled. Ronan saw the good-sized lump on Kavinsky’s forehead, stating that Kavinsky had, in fact, passed out unwillingly.

“Hurt anything other than your head?” Ronan asked.

“I don’t know. Everything already hurts.” Kavinsky sighed. “It helps.”

“Don’t you think it’s time for rehab?”

“I think right now we’ve got more important shit to focus on.” Kavinsky gave him a playful grin.

“I don’t think there’s much point in trying to protect your life if you’re fucking giving it up, anyway,” Ronan snapped and Kavinsky just blinked. He inched closer to Ronan, who didn’t back away. Ronan draped an arm over Kavinsky’s shoulders and Kavinsky hung his head between them, wrapping an arm around Ronan’s waist. Ronan allowed himself to press his lips to Kavinsky’s forehead.

“If we got rid of the forest, there would be no way for them to use it against you,” Kavinsky pointed out.

“How do you suppose we’d get rid of it?” Ronan mumbled.

“We’re good at blowing shit up.”

“There’s too much at stake. My mom’s there. Gansey’s king…”

“Is dead.”

“You haven’t met the crazy cave lady.” Ronan shook his head. Kavinsky made a noise somewhere between a guffaw and a whine. “Bed. We’ll do more work in the morning.”

“We? You and Parrish?” Kavinsky let Ronan peel himself away to lay down on his side of the bed.

“Well, I figured you’d help, but I guess you don’t have to, lazy ass. Can you sleep without dreaming?”

“I’d like to.” Kavinsky replied to both statements.

“Let’s try for it, how about.”


	10. Haven't Even Considered It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter took like two months to write.

“Lover, I know you're weary, eyes are tired from the night.  
Lover, come to the kitchen floor. Tiles are cold, so am I.  
So take from me what you want, what you need.  
Take from me, whatever you want, whatever you need.  
But lover, please stay with me.”  
\- _Lover, Please Stay_ by Nothing But Thieves 

For once in his life, Ronan woke gasping.

His mother was dead.

His mother was dead and Cabeswater was gone.

Gansey wasn’t gone, though. Gansey was safe.

Kavinsky was beside him, and Adam and Blue were safe in their own homes. The Orphan Girl was at Fox Way and Matthew was in D.C. with Declan. Chainsaw was asleep in her cage.

“Ro?” Kavinsky asked, siting up and rubbing his eyes.

“I can’t even bury her,” Ronan whispered.

“You’re safe,” Kavinsky offered, knowing there wasn’t much more that could reassure Ronan momentarily.

“ _Fuck_ me,” Ronan snapped. Kavinsky just stared down to where Ronan’s hand was casually placed in his.

Kavinsky had stayed the entire weekend, though he barely knew his place among these dreamers and magicians. He knew to keep Ronan moving to the best of his ability, otherwise the boy would break apart. He knew how to pull Ronan from the worst of dreams.

When Ronan’s grieving had lasted long enough, Kavinsky had pointed out that Matthew was next on the demon’s to-do list. Ronan had moved to punch Kavinsky, but just as his hands wrapped around the sleeves of Kavinsky’s muscle tank, Kavinsky had smirked cruelly and whispered, “tell me, Lynch, would you let it kill you?”

Kavinsky knew best how to rekindle and aim that fire within Ronan Lynch.

But then, when Gansey collapsed, Ronan’s heart had broken thrice too many times in one weekend. It pained Kavinsky to his soul to see Ronan so torn to shreds.

He stayed, but he felt useless.

He stayed, but he wasn’t sure there was any point.

And then, Ronan had fallen asleep gripping him tight, all pillow walls tossed aside.

Now, the pure purposelessness of all they had done hit them both. Gansey lived; his dream was dead. “Time for new dreams. _Excelsior_ ,” Gansey had claimed, but they could all see the defeat in his eyes.

“People are adaptable.” Kavinsky told Ronan now, but Ronan just cursed once more. “Don’t we need a new dream place? Let’s make goldfish, Lynch.”

Kavinsky waited. He was doing his best with this, but in truth, his head was killing him. And it wasn’t just the physical pain causing the problem.

“We’ll make a fucking shark,” Ronan answered. Kavinsky let himself grin. 

***

“Guess what,” Kavinsky announced. They were all seated around a table at Nino’s that following evening.

None of them went to school, but Blue still had work. It seemed like everyone in Henrietta was subconsciously celebrating their survival. The line had been out the door to the point that Blue informed them unless they wanted to sit separately, they’d have to wait another ten minutes. To which, of course, Kavinsky had a retort—

“Ro can sit on my lap.” Kavinsky had smiled as they all stared him down flatly. “Spatial conservation.”

“That’s nice, dear, but where will these fools sit?” Ronan replied, gesturing to Henry, Gansey and Adam.

They waited the ten minutes.

—Now, Blue glared at them from the hostess table, where a man held up a finger to gesture for her to wait while he finished his phone call. It wasn’t like there was _still_ a line behind him.

“It’s fucking _you_ , I get it now,” Ronan guffawed.

Gansey narrowed his eyes in confusion, but turned to Kavinsky rather than answer that comment. “What is it?”

“I’ve been sober three days now.”

“That’s—” Gansey started, but Ronan interrupted.

“Shit. You’ve been sober a week before. Fucking last longer or go to rehab.”

“Piss off,” Kavinsky answered, and nobody mentioned how obvious it was that their hands were laced together under the table. “It’s been a hell of a three days and I haven’t even considered it.” He added under his breath, “’til now.”

“Rehab, moron.”

“Go fuck a tree,” Kavinsky responded as Blue walked back over to them. “Oh wait,” Kavinsky gave a dramatic gasp, and Ronan snorted in amusement.

Blue rolled her eyes. “Has the child decided what he wants to eat?”

“Ugh, _eat_.” Kavinsky rubbed his temples.

“Don’t ask him that. He breaks out in hives,” Adam chuckled, having watched the other two waitresses asked him the same thing and get shooed away.

“What is wrong with you people?” Blue asked.

“Well, for starters, we keep hanging out with Tree-Kid and Tree-Daddy.” Kavinsky gestured to Blue and then Ronan.

“I’m going to beat your ass if you ever call me that again,” Ronan snapped at the same time as Blue, who placed her hand on her hip and asked, “why are you here again?”

“Gee, Blue, you haven’t noticed?” Adam gestured between Ronan and Kavinsky. The two quickly scooted apart.

“You’re embarrassing yourselves,” Henry commented at that. They both flipped him off.

***

Ronan spent the week at the Barns. Manual labor proved to keep Ronan’s mind off of things, though it didn’t tend to do much for Kavinsky other than exhaust him.

Kavinsky stuck to Ronan’s side when he could, but school was his distraction. When needed, the dream pack helped him avoid the temptation of cocaine.

When he was with Ronan, though, he was working if he wasn’t sleeping. Kavinsky didn’t complain, but Ronan saw his dark circled eyes and shaky hands. He tried to see if he could get Kavinsky to sleep more, but that didn’t seem to do the trick.

It didn’t help that when they slept, they woke each other with dreams. Ronan more often than Kavinsky now. Ronan hadn’t dreamt lucidly since Cabeswater had died. He knew he could, as he had dreamt things into existence before Cabeswater had manifested, but something was stopping him.

His dreams now consisted of burying his mother. His mother’s broken, bloodied body being covered by dirt in a place that wasn’t Cabeswater—didn’t even try to look like Cabeswater. Sometimes his father helped him dig. Sometimes Matthew was with her, motionless in the grave.

Sometimes, Gansey held him in a vice grip. Sometimes, he held Kavinsky in one.

Other times, Blue and Adam laughed at him for things he didn’t know.

He didn’t know.

Flashes of a classroom; flashes of skin; moments of screaming, bloody agony with no foreseeable cause; moments of visual, kinetic, audible _nothing_.

Kavinsky woke Ronan from his dreams as often as Ronan woke Kavinsky _with_ his dreams. Ronan’s cries or physical responses to what wasn’t happening. His relief and mutual terror at what _hadn’t_ occurred.

Ronan preferred to work.

One night, Kavinsky woke to a crash downstairs. Since Ronan wasn’t beside him, he could only assume it was Ronan making the racket.

Kavinsky should help him. He should… go. Downstairs. To help. To comfort.

Kavinsky didn’t know what he was doing here.

Why had Ronan chosen Kavinsky to be the person he’d wake up next to after his mother’s death? Why hadn’t he chosen to rely on Gansey or Adam?

What could Kavinsky even _do_?

He was cautious as he crept down the stairs and into to kitchen, where he found Ronan on the floor, shattered glass and beer cans surrounding him. The bird had come to comfort him before Kavinsky did, perched on Ronan's shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” Kavinsky asked and Ronan hesitated before nodding, his lips pursed and eyebrows cocked in a way that said, _I’m not dead, or dying, so I’m fine_. Kavinsky scratched his head and sighed.

“Are you?” Ronan responded.

“The fuck does that mean?” Kavinsky tried to laugh, but it came out too wet. He balled his hands up into fists, wincing at the pain in his joints. He squeezed tighter.

Ronan used a kitchen towel to scoot away the shattered glass and then held out a beer can so Kavinsky could join him. “What is it?” Ronan asked.

“What’s what, you piece of shit?” Kavinsky countered and gulped down half the can.

“You’re upset.”

“ _You’re_ upset.”

“Good comeback. What are we, four?”

“I can’t _do_ anything for you.” Kavinsky tossed the half empty beer can at the fridge and it splattered everywhere. Ronan didn’t protest. “I don’t have a right to be upset, I—I’m—there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Well, you’ve got the world’s most fucked up mental health, so there’s that,” Ronan offered.

“Fuck you.”

“Have you been diagnosed with depression, yet?” Ronan questioned on and Kavinsky went silent. He breathed deeply a few more times before sighing and grabbing another beer can.

“You’re the one with the dead mother and the dead forest. I’m just… a bystander. I need to help. Otherwise, what am I good for?”

“A laugh. A friend. Comfort. Empathy. You empath…ize. You’re not allowed to go,” Ronan practically slurred.

“Go where?”

“Away.”

“Are you shit-faced?”

“No.” Ronan retorted sassily, but didn’t seem to have much more to offer.

Kavinsky sighed with a tired chuckle. “What do I care?” He mumbled. 

“You care because someone you care for is hurting.” Ronan glanced over to him with eyes somewhere between dead and defeated.

“Fuck that shit.”

“Fuck emotions.” Ronan nodded.

“It’s not… none of this is supposed to be about me.”

“You can’t push aside your own feelings just because someone else needs help. Help yourself first. Always. Like right now, you should probably sleep. I know you need it.”

“Therapist,” Kavinsky grumbled.

“Looney Tunes.” Ronan paused as Kavinsky gave him a questioning look. “Why are your eyes that way?”

“Oh my god.” Kavinsky rubbed his eyes and then chuckled. “Did you just say that out loud with your mouth?”

“Com’ere. Are you high?” Ronan asked, reaching for him. Chainsaw fluttered off to her cage, seemingly content that Kavinsky could handle the rest of Ronan's breakdown. 

“No,” Kavinsky whined, and then rested his head against Ronan’s shoulder. “You’re drunk.”

“How long?” Ronan wrapped his arm around Kavinsky, who was already drifting off.

“Have you been drunk?” Kavinsky quipped, but Ronan didn’t answer. “A week.”

“Good.” Ronan rested his chin on Kavinsky’s hair.

***

“What do you want more, me or to be dead?” Ronan watched as Kavinsky made margaritas in his kitchen. The dream pack and Gansey’s crew sat around Kavinsky’s pool, arguing, but also laughing and generally having a better time than they thought they would. Kavinsky and Ronan had decided it was time for the families to meet.

“Can you stop, like, springing this shit on me with no warning?”

Ronan rolled his eyes as he picked at a fruit bowl. “Warning: serious conversation ahead. Viewer discretion advised.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You didn’t answer the question, dumbass.”

“You, okay? Miserable mother fucker.” Kavinsky stared Ronan down as he said this. Ronan blinked, seeing Kavinsky hold eye contact even through the glasses. Ronan had dreamt him new ones.

They looked up at a screech just in time to see Blue shove Skov into the pool. Proko cackled from where he sat at the table and Jiang’s bellowing laugh echoed. Jiang plucked an unlit cigarette from Swan’s lips and tossed it.

“So you were always the worst, then? I thought maybe they had some influence over you,” Ronan commented as he helped carrying out the drinks.

“Nah, I was a hella shit influence, and they’re all sheep.” It was weird how many glasses Kavinsky could carry at once.

“Great way to refer to your friends.”

“You’re a fucking dog with Dick Cubed, and I tell you that.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Ronan shrugged.

“If you’re a virgin, come get some, here!” Kavinsky shouted and Adam rolled his eyes as he took a cup from Kavinsky, eyeing Ronan to be sure he was taking the right glass.

“And _you—_ ,” Blue jabbed a finger at Kavinsky, “—are needlessly vulgar.”

“We’ve known that since his conception,” Jiang added and then started when Chainsaw flew a little too close to him to land on Ronan's shoulder. Ronan brushed her off and she flew back to her tree, squawking all the way. 

“Oh-ho. You’re gonna be next.” Skov called from where he was rising from the pool.

“Damn, it’s too cold out here and y’all are too much,” Kavinsky grumbled, hopping into the jacuzzi with his margarita.

“Did he just say _y’all_?” Jiang sniffed dramatically, but Proko spoke over him.

“Does dear Joey want some acid?” Proko teased, hands on his legs as if beckoning a dog.

“Call me that again.” Kavinsky’s voice went dangerously low, and Ronan barely avoided tripping over nothing as he avoided eye contact. Adam burst out laughing and waved away everyone’s curiosity.

Ronan stepped into the jacuzzi and ducked his head under before anyone could notice his red ears. Then he sipped at his margarita and turned to Kavinsky, who was watching the rest of them interact through his tinted glasses.

“Me, huh?” Ronan asked, taking more of a gulp than a sip of his margarita.

“You are not an idiot, Lynch. You know that, at this point, I would do anything for you. Live. Die. Whatever that shit is.” Kavinsky flapped his hand.

“Would you let me call you ‘Joey’?” Ronan asked, hiding a smirk, and Kavinsky pulled off his glasses to give him a slight glare.

“Yes.”

“Not if you don’t like it.” Ronan shrugged.

“Anything sounds good on your tongue, you motherfucker.” They were both leaned in a bit closer than they ever were before.

Ronan had woken this close to Kavinsky before, only to pull away and go get dressed. But there had been other times… times when he woke in the night, staring at the freckles on Kavinsky’s washed out nose and not bothering to move away. It was then that Kavinsky looked softest, and here and now was a close runner-up.

Kavinsky tilted his head and gave a split-second half grin. “Do you trust me?” He asked and glanced at Ronan’s lips.

Then Blue and Gansey came splashing into the jacuzzi, followed by Proko and Skov. “Damn you all, this thing is not made to hold six people, you turtle shits,” Kavinsky complained.

“I’ve seen you in here with at least ten other people. I don’t think we’ll break it,” Proko replied, and Kavinsky flipped him off.

“How do you break a jacuzzi?” Blue asked. Gansey and Skov both started to answer, so Blue waved her hand at them. “Never mind, forget I asked.”

Kavinsky began to guffaw, and Ronan splashed him, which just began some new kind of war.


	11. The Shit Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: (probably) unhealthy codependency (does that require TW? I don't know); brief, vague mention of self-harm scars
> 
> When you start checking your own works for updates, you know it’s time to post. So here we go, two days early, Chapter 11. Don’t get used to it- last chapter still isn’t finished. 😱
> 
> Also, rating update, ‘cause I’m paranoid. For... sexual references? And language? I guess...

“I was just a kid. How'd it get like this?  
And the story ends, but life goes on so,  
Like those before and those to follow;  
Just when you thought you knew it all,  
You find another and then it happens.  
'Cause you gave me something, something to believe in.”  
- _Just a Kid_ by Nothing But Thieves

Neither of them went to bed that night. Eventually, everyone left—though the dream pack left somewhat reluctantly. Ronan and Kavinsky planted themselves in front of the widescreen TV, a bird perched on a shoulder and a dragon wrapped around a neck.

Both were a bit drunk, and more wrapped together than they would be sober.

“Could you live without me?” Ronan asked as SpongeBob and Patrick ripped the fur off hibernating Sandy.

“I don’t want to find out.” Kavinsky scrubbed his hand down his face, and Ronan turned to side-eye him. 

“I don’t like that.”

“Have to start somewhere.” Kavinsky shrugged and Ronan decided that was fair. He had worked himself up for this, in reality, when he was the first person to press Kavinsky to be something more. Of course, Kavinsky depended on him right now. And one day, that dependence would be unnecessary, but maybe all the more welcome.

Finally, they fell asleep, though that had never been the intent.

Ronan woke to find Kavinsky sprawled over him. He sighed, looking down to see Kavinsky’s eyes open and his hands playing with the hem of Ronan’s shirt sleeve. Ronan’s stomach growled. “Not moving,” Kavinsky grumbled.

“Joey,” Ronan attempted to scoff, but it came out groggy. Kavinsky moaned, but removed himself from Ronan, heading off to the bathroom.

Ronan made them coffee and stared out the kitchen window. The sun glinted off the pool. As well as the trash surrounding it—seemed their friends hadn’t even attempted to clean up after themselves.

They went about their days in the end. Ronan went to school, albeit late, realizing that he hadn’t really been at all the previous week. The teachers seemed shocked to see him, or they played at not recognizing him. Ronan couldn’t roll his eyes harder while Adam gave him a pointed stare.

After school, Ronan headed over to Kavinsky’s to see if he could cart the fool over to the Barns. Kavinsky wasn’t there, so Ronan drove out alone, a quick text to Proko to be sure Kavinsky was at therapy and not getting high in the bushes somewhere.

The sun was just setting when Kavinsky pulled into Ronan’s driveway. Ronan stepped onto the porch to greet him, Chainsaw flying off to brood on one of the barns’ rooves.

“You were out late.” Ronan crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the porch railing. “Can’t believe you drove.” Ronan refrained from making a joke about Kavinsky’s driving killing someone.

“Sorry, ma, won’t happen again.” Kavinsky answered, adjusting his glasses as he walked up the stairs to stand in front of Ronan. Ronan didn’t back away, just stared at him. “I got a job,” Kavinsky breathed and Ronan blinked.

“Good for you, man.”

“I’m helping at the go-kart track.”

“Sounds like the shit.”

“Can I kiss you yet?” Ronan tensed visibly, but considered.

Kavinsky stared with a toothily grin, but Ronan just reached over and removed the other’s glasses. Slowly, focusing first on Kavinsky’s clear eyes, and then on the glasses themselves, Ronan folded the glasses and pocketed them. When Ronan finally nodded, Kavinsky surged forward, his hand wrapped around Ronan’s skull as he walked him up backwards up the stairs, so that they were on even ground.

Their first kiss was like a punch to the mouth, but with teeth and tongue. After slamming his mouth against Ronan’s, Kavinsky bit at his lip and then soothed it with a brush of his tongue. His hands pulled Ronan as close as their faces could be, as if it wasn’t about the kiss, but about the nearness. Ronan could taste the blood from Kavinsky’s unconditionally split lip reopening.

Ronan placed his hand at Kavinsky’s throat, grunting as he pushed the boy away for a moment. Kavinsky’s eyes dared Ronan to pull away completely while Ronan considered what they were doing. Eventually, he leaned forward carefully, making sure Kavinsky was not able to lead. Even through his rough breathing, Kavinsky seemed to realize what Ronan wanted and went still.

Ronan’s lips against his were as gentle as a breeze. Only the hand still wrapped around Kavinsky’s neck hinted at any violence. Ronan peppered Kavinsky’s lips and then his cheeks with delicate kisses, and Kavinsky shuddered under Ronan’s touch. Finally, Ronan laced his fingers through Kavinsky’s hair, tugging carefully. Kavinsky groaned and Ronan pulled away to realize that Kavinsky now had blood all over his face, transferred from his lips to Ronan’s, to his cheeks.

“You’re a mess,” Ronan stated and Kavinsky’s toothy grin returned.

Ronan walked him back into the bathroom to wash his face off and then put some Chapstick on his cut lip. Neither of them spoke, as if not wanting to wake from this new kind of dream. They ate and then curled up together on the couch, watching the news for a change. Neither of them was paying it much attention.

Kavinsky sought out Ronan’s lips and somehow, ended up straddling him. Kavinsky’s every action was paused by his own consideration of what Ronan was thinking below him. Ronan didn’t stop Kavinsky from bodily pressing himself against Ronan, lacing their fingers together above Ronan’s head. It seemed that, to Kavinsky, nothing was more important in this moment than for every inch of them to be touching. Kavinsky gave an experimental roll of his hips, and the noise that came out of Ronan made Kavinsky laugh outright.

He levered himself up with a hand on the back of the couch to look down at Ronan as Ronan cursed at him. “So this—” Kavinsky cut himself off. Ronan didn’t speak, which made Kavinsky smile. He wasn’t denying there was a _this_ , which was all Kavinsky really needed to know. “You trust me?”

“Yeah.” Ronan wasn’t really one for words, Kavinsky knew. He’d have to pry them out of him.

“Why now?”

_Because he wasn’t strong enough not to anymore._

But then, maybe he didn’t need to be.

“I don’t know, K. Don’t question it. I’m not waxing poetic about you, you piece of shit.” Ronan shoved Kavinsky off and sat up beside him.

“That’s poetry enough to my ears.” Kavinsky backed off.

“Fuck off.”

K laughed. “So, Jones said something interesting.”

“So, you _did_ go to therapy today.”

“What?” Kavinsky reached out and ever so gently placed his thumb against Ronan’s lips.

“Nothing. What did he say?”

“He said I’m just a kid.”

There was a long silence as they both considered this. They were just kids. They were kids who had to grow up too fast. Did they still have the right to claim childlike innocence?

“We’ve gotta grow up,” Ronan finally answered. “We’re learning.”

“I don’t think it makes me any less accountable,” Kavinsky added, spreading his fingers out to splay across Ronan’s cheek. Ronan didn’t stop him. 

“Nobody’s unaccountable. Kids are—” Ronan groaned, kicking his feet out from beneath him, where they had been falling asleep. “Look, real parents teach their kids fucking accountability.”

“‘ _Real’_?”

“Not ours.”

“Yours?” Kavinsky raised an eyebrow.

“My dad had illusions of grandeur and taught that to us. My mom… was a dream.” Ronan rubbed his hands over his eyes, Kavinsky’s hand being swatted away in the process. Kavinsky went. “So, yeah, we’re held accountable.”

“What do I do?” Kavinsky asked, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Fix what you can?” Ronan offered a shrug and Kavinsky shook his head, shrugging back as he stared down at his hands in his lap.

“How do I fix other people’s… addictions, their losses?” Kavinsky threw his head back and sighed. “You know what else our shit parents didn’t do?” Ronan grunted at Kavinsky’s sneer. “Help us when the accountability called for too much.”

“Maybe that’s what Jones is for.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“He’s—he’ll walk you through it. Right?”

“Yeah, right, fuck, whatever.” Kavinsky looked everywhere but at Ronan, who decided he’d had enough of the avoidance.

Ronan ran his fingers through Kavinsky’s hair and turned the other to face him. “Other people take the shit hand they’re dealt, and they do impressive shit with it.”

“That ain’t me.” Kavinsky gave a pitiful smirk.

“Do you see how far you’ve come?” Ronan tilted his head.

Kavinsky blinked and visibly preened. It only took him a few seconds to see Ronan’s expression that clearly was laughing at him.

“Shitting fuck. How are you real?” Kavinsky chuckled, holding Ronan’s cheeks in his hands.

“Fuck knows.” Ronan rolled his eyes as he considered and Kavinsky practically giggled.

Eventually, they headed upstairs, where Ronan decided to use his hands to map out Kavinsky’s body, rather than use Kavinsky’s attempt to mesh them bodily together. He started with removing Kavinsky’s shirt, which caused no issue, as they’d been shirtless in front of each other before. Ronan traced the small stick and poke tattoos running over Kavinsky’s body.

“Never understood—” Kavinsky breathed roughly. “—well, okay, yes I do, but—” Ronan worked to bite a mark into Kavinsky’s neck and Kavinsky gasped. “—you spent all that money on a tattoo when you could’ve just dreamt it.” Kavinsky tugged at Ronan’s short hair. “But dreams don’t piss off big brother, do they?”

“Why would you fucking bring him up?” Ronan growled.

Kavinsky decided it was his turn to straddle Ronan and flipped them over. Ronan’s fingers touched at the waist of other boy’s jeans, and Kavinsky pulled away for a millisecond. Ronan didn’t catch the motion, but he caught the way Kavinsky stiffened in his hands.

“Okay?” He asked and Kavinsky sneered, practically biting Ronan in his attempts to shut him up. Ronan’s hands slipped into the inside of Kavinsky’s jeans, feather light against Kavinsky’s hips. He felt raised skin, but he didn’t look down, didn’t even pause.

Kavinsky pulled away and Ronan let him. He stared down at Ronan for a moment with wide eyes, biting at his thumbnail. “You want me to talk about it?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I want you to keep touching me.”

“ _God_ , yes.” Ronan pulled Kavinsky’s jeans off and Kavinsky shuddered, matching the favor.

After a while, Kavinsky rested their foreheads together, their lips a short distance away. Ronan’s eyes were closed. Kavinsky kissed at Ronan’s cheeks and then chuckled. “Hey, stupid. Breathe.” Ronan inhaled sharply and opened his eyes to glare.

“Asshole.” He leaned forward to press their lips together once more.

Eventually, they parted, lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling with moving glow-in-the-dark stars. A shooting star that vanished somewhere on the far wall.

“How’s your head?” Ronan asked, and Kavinsky tried to remember when he’d hurt his head.

“Did you bang my head?” Kavinsky smirked toothily. 

“Where’s your mind, dumbass?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I have therapy.”

“I’m considering it.” Ronan tapped his thumbs together where they rested on his chest.

“You keep saying that.” Kavinsky propped himself up on an elbow to look down at Ronan beside him.

“You keep saying you’ll do rehab.”

“And eventually, I’ll get there. Like you said, there’s shit before to work through.” Kavinsky traced Ronan’s eyebrow with his finger, and Ronan stared back.

“And can you do that?”

“With you. You… you are so worth it. It’s like… we’re restarting. Just us.” Kavinsky looked away, so he didn’t see Ronan shudder with confused disgust.

_Just us._

“In reality,” Ronan added emphatically.

“Us, but stronger.” Kavinsky looked at him, but then lay down across Ronan’s chest.

“It’s still us,” Ronan practically whispered.

“You’ve helped. Thank you.” Kavinsky grumbled and Ronan thought long and hard about whether he’d ever heard Kavinsky thank someone genuinely. Kavinsky’s arms around Ronan’s chest made him think maybe there was a little extra on the boy’s mind.

Ronan wrapped his arms around Kavinsky. “I’ve told you, K. I’m not going anywhere.”

***

In the end, Kavinsky’s job lasted about month. He wasn’t shy about admitting it. He’d gotten into the habit of walking into Monmouth regardless the time of day, which wasn’t so much of a problem. The real problem was that he couldn’t walk through a door without practically swinging it off its hinges and that tended to upset Chainsaw.

Ronan was pretending to study while Gansey really studied, when they heard a boom from the front door. They jumped and turned to see Kavinsky standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the snow outside.

“I got fired,” Kavinsky announced over Chainsaw’s announcements that someone was here and someone else should do something about it.

“Why?” Ronan grunted as Kavinsky removed his jacket and shoes before hurrying over to steal the heat out from beneath Ronan’s blanket. Ronan kicked him off the couch and held the blanket closer, giving Kavinsky a playful glare.

“I may’ve told some homophobic little sucker to go fuck himself so he can see how nice dick is,” Kavinsky admitted from the floor and then crawled over to see what Gansey was working on.

“What were you hoping to solve?” Gansey question on and Kavinsky shrugged, giving up on caring about Gansey’s homework.

“It worked with Skov.” Instead, Kavinsky rejoined Ronan, timidly scooting closer until he managed to sneak under the blanket with him.

“Oh my god, _shut up_!” Ronan shouted at Chainsaw, who flew over to land on Gansey’s shoulder, as if mom would take her side.

“Did it really?” Gansey tilted his head, pulling his glasses down his nose as he looked at Kavinsky, patting Chainsaw’s head as she tried to stop him.

“May have included some fucking on my end as well.”

“I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that the two of you had done it.” Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We’ve all done it.” Kavinsky shrugged and tossed an arm over Ronan’s shoulders.

“Why are you so hot?” Ronan hissed, reaching out of the blanket to place his hand on Kavinsky’s forehead.

“You’re not so bad, yourself, sweetheart,” Kavinsky drawled.

“Do we have a thermometer?” Ronan asked Gansey.

“That’s not what I came to have stuck up my—”

“You may have forgotten, but the living room here is also my bedroom!” Gansey shouted over him and Kavinsky slinked down Ronan’s side, resting his head against Ronan’s chest as he smirked at Gansey.

“Kinky,” Kavinsky commented, and Ronan gave him a disgusted glance.

“I also don’t have another house,” Gansey added and Chainsaw flew off to make more noise in her cage.

“Well you do, but—”

“Go flirt somewhere else!” Gansey interrupted Ronan this time.

“Are you getting a new job?” Ronan changed the subject and Kavinsky tilted his head back and forth.

“Eventually.”

“Are you going to go to rehab?” Ronan tried again and Kavinsky just groaned. “I have an appointment with Jones.”

“Really?” Kavinsky’s voice squeaked as he sat back up to look Ronan in the eye.

“I don’t know if I’ll go.” Ronan avoided that eye contact.

“Don’t make me look bad in front of him.” Kavinsky patted the back of his hand against Ronan’s chest.

“I’m sure you’ve shown him more fucked up angles of yourself than my flakiness,” Ronan insisted, and Kavinsky back handed him a little harder.

“It’ll be good for you.”

“Yeah, Ronan, you hypocrite,” Gansey voiced.

“Have you eaten?” Ronan stood up, forcing Kavinsky to fall back flat. He whined.

“Don’t want to.”

“I can tell. You never want to. Look where it’s gotten you.” Ronan gave him a once over and headed to the kitchen/bathroom.

“You’re a fuck wad,” Kavinsky called.

“You’re a fuck pile,” Ronan called back. “Do you want a frozen burrito or leftovers from last week?”

Kavinsky considered as Gansey wrinkled his nose. “What kind of leftovers?”

“It was probably pasta at some point, but I don’t know that I’d call it that now.” Ronan remarked and opened a beer can for himself. He recognized the irony and choose not to think about it.

“And you wonder why I don’t eat your food.”

“I’ll order takeout. Are we thinking Thai?” Gansey already had his phone out.

After eating, Ronan showered, and then stepped into his room to find Kavinsky passed out on his bed. Ronan sighed, changed and joined Kavinsky on the bed, pushing him over slightly. Kavinsky’s eyes blearily opened, but Ronan wasn’t convinced he was actually awake. Ronan wrapped an arm around Kavinsky’s shoulders and tugged him close for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like word counts shouldn't count curse words when it comes to Ronan and K. Like, I almost feel like I'm cheating...


	12. Do It For Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of suicide and suicide attempts, and crappy ideal of a therapy session by someone whose only therapy session drove her to a panic attack.

“Let me be absolutely clear. This is mine, but I'll let you in. Gather 'round, take a part of it-of me.  
A wasted life seems to mean the most, but these seconds are valuable.  
Breathe in change or let it go, and breathe.  
Emergency, help.  
That medicine is killing me. I won't lay down, I won't give in.  
That medicine is killing me. Some pieces have gone missing.”  
 _-Emergency_ , by Nothing But Thieves

“So, what brings you in, Ronan?” Jones asked. Ronan gritted his teeth and was silent for a while longer than was considered conversationally appropriate.

“My parents died,” Ronan finally answered, but Jones continued to wait. Part of Ronan wanted to run out of the building, but he knew Gansey was waiting outside in the Pig. He said he’d drive Ronan to and from therapy, but Ronan knew this was just a ploy to be sure he stayed the whole visit.

“When was this?” Jones asked when he saw that Ronan would be no more forthcoming.

“Few years ago, and… recently.” Ronan shrugged.

“It’s estimated that the grieving process of a loved one can last up to four years.” Jones offered and Ronan finally turned his eyes up to glare at the man. Jones looked kindly, but nothing like Gansey. Fatherly, but nothing like Niall Lynch. “If I can say something—”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“On the contrary, Ronan; we’re here so _you_ can talk,” Jones responded without a second’s thought. Ronan blinked. “One thing that often brings people here to my office is anger. But they discover that it’s not anger that they need to recover from. Or grow out of—destroy. It’s fear.”

Ronan bodily reacted to the word. Fear? Anger?

“What does Kavinsky say about me?”

“Is this Joseph Kavinsky?” Jones adjusted his glasses. He had _glasses_. 

“Yes.”

“What do you think he says?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Why does it matter what he says?”

“Aren’t you supposed to give me some spiel about doctor-patient confidentiality?” Ronan wasn’t sure this was a good idea anymore.

“Why would I give you the spiel when you seem to already know it?”

“Do you ever answer a question straight?” He wasn’t sure he needed someone who would only make him angrier.

“Yes.”

But then, maybe he did need someone with a fast retort.

“I’m not afraid.” Ronan glared at his feet.

“Then you’re very brave.”

“You don’t know that about me.”

“Your parents died.”

“So? Lots of parents die. I’m not the first or the last to experience that.”

“But the first and the last to experience it aren’t _you_ either.” Jones persisted and Ronan turned his lip up at the man. “Nobody else’s experiences can determine how you feel about something.” Ronan scuffed his foot against the floor. “I think that, if I were a man your age, without parents, it would be very difficult to get by. I would be angry.”

“You just said it wasn’t anger, it’s fear.”

“Have you been able to admit that to yourself, though?”

“What does it matter?” Ronan barked.

“First step of recovery is admitting the problem.”

“I’ve admitted I have a problem.” Ronan scuffed his feet against the floor, daring Jones to say something about the awful sound it made against the linoleum. 

“What problem is that?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’ve recognized there is a problem. Have you named it?”

So maybe _this_ is what Ronan was here for. He fidgeted with his hands and Jones let the silence go on. Ronan was used to prolonged silences, but normally _he_ was causing them. 

“I’m probably an alcoholic. K says so.” Ronan shrugged as his face turned bright red. He hated his body's betrayal. 

“K?”

“Kavinsky.”

“Is Joseph Kavinsky your standard of absolute truth?”

“Fuck no,” Ronan snorted.

“What do you think about dependency?”

“ _He_ depends on _me_.”

“And he says you depend on alcohol.”

Ronan whipped his head around to look in the opposite direction. Still not at Jones. There was a picture of a beach. Hawaii, maybe? Why were beaches always considered calming? Those waves could wreck a person, and that wasn't speaking for what was below. 

“Dependency isn’t a bad thing. It’s all a matter of balance.” Jones let a few seconds go by to see if Ronan would comment. “If Kavinsky moved across the country and never spoke to you again, you might have a hard time. But you shouldn’t break completely.”

Ronan wondered at that analogy compared to an easier one—Kavinsky’s death. Or maybe Ronan was just morbid. Maybe he was overthinking it.

“Dependency on a substance isn’t always a bad thing either.”

“Alcoholism is generally considered unhealthy, doc.” Ronan interjected.

“Anti-depressants?” 

“I’m not fucking depressed,” Ronan snapped. 

“Over the counter pain medication?” Jones tried again. 

“If someone pops Advil every hour, they tend to die,” Ronan stated flatly.

“Is your alcohol use hourly?”

“No.”

“How often do you drink?”

“I don’t—daily?” Ronan stuttered out. This is why he was here. He held his face in his hands.

“How often a day?” Jones scribbled something down.

“It depends.”

“Have you considered joining an AA meeting?” Ronan wondered how well that would go over with Declan if he found out. Then again, how well would Declan respond if he found out Ronan was attending therapy?

“I don’t think I’m there yet,” Ronan mumbled.

“Okay. Will you know if you reach the point that you are there?”

“I’m hoping not to reach that point.”

“Do you know if addiction runs in your family?”

Ronan scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m a dreamer, doc. You know that?”

“Like Kavinsky?” Jones’s tone didn’t even shift, though Ronan wasn’t looking to see if Jones’s posture did.

“Like Kavinsky. And you know what else? So was my dad. My mom was a dream. Who the fuck knows what runs in my blood?”

“Do you know your paternal grandparents?”

“No.” For all Ronan knew, his grandparents died as a result of his father’s dreaming, just as so many tended to when dreamers were involved. Ronan's eyes closed. 

“Okay. Do you know if you, yourself, have an addictive personality?” Ronan shook his head and shrugged. “Have you ever been addicted to chocolate? Video games?”

“No,” Ronan decided. He wasn’t like Kavinsky, who was addicted to cocaine, addicted to dreams, addicted to pain, addicted to pissing Ronan off. “What about—what about dependency?”

“If Kavinsky died, would you be able to continue?” There was the analogy.

“Yes,” Ronan decided. He’d had the time to consider it. If Kavinsky died, Ronan still had Gansey and Adam and Blue. His brothers. His dreams.

And that was the balance Jones mentioned.

“If you were never able to drink alcohol again?”

Off the bat, Ronan wanted to say yes, he’d be fine. But at the moment, the call of a drink wasn’t so bad. When his mom died, would he have survived without alcohol? Ultimately, yes; Gansey and Kavinsky wouldn’t’ve allowed anything else. But maybe his mind would’ve shattered a bit more than it already had. Maybe the little things would add up.

“That’s where the imbalanced dependency comes in. You’re not having physical withdrawals. Unless you’re drunk right now?” Ronan finally made eye contact to give him a flat look. Jones smiled. “You’re not addicted. But maybe you should do something about that dependency.” He made a note and then looked up to Ronan again. “When do you find yourself reaching for a drink?”

Ronan took a deep breath, and they went on.

***

In the end, Jones prescribed him with antidepressants after all, stating that Ronan had basically been self-medicating. Ronan spent the drive home silent, and Gansey kept quiet too, sensing Ronan’s need for it.

Ronan didn’t grab a beer that night, but he didn’t feel that proud of himself. On nights like these, it was easy to remain sober. Other than the usual, there was nothing pressing plaguing his mind.

_Why did he want it so badly, then?_

A storm raged outside Monmouth, but inside was silent. Eventually, Gansey asked how therapy went. Ronan grunted back and that was the end of it.

Just as they were heading off to bed, roughly three in the morning, the front door knob rattled against its lock. Then someone banged on the door.

“Joseph?” Gansey suggested as Ronan rubbed his eyes.

“Should be with Proko. Adam?”

“He hasn’t texted.” Gansey shrugged, checking his phone once more.

Ronan went to the door to find that Kavinsky was standing there, dripping wet. “K? What are you doing here? I thought you were with Proko.”

“I’m so cold,” Kavinsky answered. Ronan pulled him in by his arm out of the rain. His cheeks were rosy, but when Ronan placed his hands on them, they were burning up.

“Jesus, you are on fire.”

“Cold,” Kavinsky insisted whinily, and leaned up against Ronan. Instinctively, Ronan wrapped an arm around him, and the boy was still shivering as he nuzzled his nose into Ronan’s shoulder. “You’re warm,” Kavinsky sighed. Ronan placed his hand on Kavinsky’s hair as he considered this.

“Let’s get you to rehab, K.”

“No,” Kavinsky whimpered. Ronan held him away by his shoulder far enough so he could look Kavinsky in the eye. Kavinsky’s head still hung between them, his eyes drooping.

“Look at me,” Ronan demanded quietly, sensing Gansey watching them. “Do you still want to die?” Ronan practically whispered.

“No,” Kavinsky repeated with a slight shake to his head.

“Then let’s go. Let’s get you there so you can live. This…this is killing you, Joseph. Not that much healthier than being high, right?” Ronan tried to get Kavinsky to look him in the eye, but that age-old problem of eye contact was haunting Kavinsky.

“Don’t know,” Kavinsky mumbled.

“Come on. Be a fucking fighter.” Ronan shook him gently by the shoulders, but Kavinsky swayed as if Ronan had punched him. 

“I am a fucking fighter.”

“Damn well better prove it to me then.”

Kavinsky pulled himself free of Ronan’s arms and headed back toward the door.

“Did you drive yourself?”

“So what if I did?” Kavinsky kicked the doorframe, and Ronan wasn’t sure if it was on accident.

“Can you even see straight?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Proko?”

“I left him…” Kavinsky didn’t seem to remember where he left him. It didn’t matter though because that was when Proko’s Golf drove into the parking lot. Kavinsky moaned and groaned like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and then pressed his face into Ronan’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around him.

“I’ve got him.” Proko called through the rain, tromping his way up to the doorstep. Kavinsky had been relegated to Proko's care since Ronan had therapy, but Ronan wasn't sure Proko knew that. Then again, why else would Proko come after Kavinsky when he had so clearly escaped right back to Ronan? 

“Is he high?” Ronan asked.

“Sober and exhausted.” Proko leaned against the railing of the stairs.

“He slept last night.”

“Coke does shit to you. Especially in withdrawal. Come on, K.”

“He needs rehab.”

“That’s not your decision.” Proko shrugged.

“Is it yours?” Ronan snapped.

“I think it’s his.”

“If it were up to him, he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.” Ronan growled.

“Not anymore.” Proko glared, daring Ronan to say otherwise.

“Dead in a ditch four months ago means still dead in a ditch today. Fucktard.”

Proko sighed as Kavinsky stepped over to him. “Not your decision,” he insisted and tugged Kavinsky off to the Golf.

***

During lunch, Ronan had actually been called into the principal’s office about his truancy. A cop was there. Gansey and Adam were no help—just told him that it was his own fault it had come to this. Ronan thought maybe it had to do more with the death of his mother, the attempted suicide of a friend, and the death of some supposed magic guy—which was only fresh to them really.

Ronan promised the cop he’d never do it again, and promptly drove home instead of going back to class. What would Jones say of his rebellion?

Kavinsky was calling him. He had been calling ever since Ronan had walked into the principal’s office, but for obvious reasons, Ronan hadn’t answered.

Now, Ronan smashed his finger into the answer-key. “What is it, Joseph,” he demanded tartly.

“Oh-ho. First names when fighting, we must be domestic.”

“K, what—”

“Oh, no, I liked the sound of my Christian name on your tongue, sweetie. Say it again for me.”

“In your dreams.” Ronan rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Yes. Now com’ere so I can hear more of that shit.” Ronan rolled his eyes, knowing better than to ask directly if Kavinsky was high. It was better not to remind him of what he shouldn’t have.

“Are you going to rehab?”

“Are you going to use that to deny me head?”

“I’m going to use that to make you wish you never knew me," Ronan growled. 

“Already do.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you going to come take me to rehab or what?” Ronan hung up on him and drove to Kavinsky’s. There was no way to determine whether this was Kavinsky trying to get Ronan to come over or if he was being authentic.

Kavinsky stood on the doorstep, smoking. He looked like a strong wind could blow him over.

“Get in the car.” Ronan didn’t walk away from his BMW.

“I should pack a bag.”

“Then do it. I’m waiting here.” Kavinsky just stared as he finished his cigarette. Finally, he left and came back with a bag. He jumped into the passenger seat, but didn’t close his door. Ronan knew better than to go around and close it for him.

“I’m supposed to do it for myself,” Kavinsky commented.

“Okay?” Ronan prompted.

“I’m doing it for you.”

“No, you’re really not,” Ronan snapped. “You’re doing it because if you don’t, you and I are going to have problems. If you don’t, you could die.”

“I don’t hold so much offense to the dying part.”

“No, yes. You do. You care for me more than you do for dying.”

“Doing it for you.” His voice came out monotone.

“Doing it because _you_ love me. It’s selfish because you want me and that’s good.”

“Fuck that love shit.” Kavinsky glared. 

“Fuck you.”

“Do you love me?” Kavinsky seemed to change him mind, but Ronan just glared back. 

“Fuck that love shit.”

“And fuck you.” Kavinsky nodded as if they were in agreement, tossing a hand in the air.

It was silent for a while. They listened to the wind in the trees and watched clouds roll over them. “If you don’t go, you eventually die, which isn’t as great as being alive. But being alive’s not worth much without other people, huh? And cocaine drives people away.” Ronan finally looked over at Kavinsky, who was still staring forward, his eyelids drooped, no glasses to be found. “This will fix it for good. We can’t fix it for good without rehab. But it’s a one-time thing. As long as you don’t fall back.”

“As long as I don’t fall back.”

“Which you won’t. It’s been, what, three weeks?”

“Things are good.”

“Things have sucked. Royally.” Ronan shook his head. “Might not’ve been your mom who died, but you still saw her. You saw Gansey. You’ve stuck with me.” Ronan sighed. “You will never have reason to fall so low as to dosing yourself up to deal again.” Ronan recognized that if it neared that, it was more likely that Kavinsky would kill himself than dose up again, but he didn’t dare mention that. That was what the therapy was for and Kavinsky wasn’t even almost done with that. It would be okay if he was never done with it - as long as he improved from where he was now.

“Doing it for me.” Kavinsky slammed his door shut and Ronan drove.

When they reached the rehab center, Kavinsky leaned over the center console and insisted on a kiss or two. It turned into three or more, but Ronan stopped counting. He cradled Kavinsky’s cheeks in his hands.

“You’re going to feel so much better,” Ronan whispered against Kavinsky’s lips. He pulled away just far enough to look into Kavinsky’s eyes. “You might not at first, but you will. Things will be good.”

“Things might suck again, Ro.” Kavinsky traced the back of Ronan’s neck with a finger, as if he could see the tattoo there.

“They might. But that’s going to be okay because this is one thing that won’t suck anymore. For you.”

“And you.”

“Yes, but like we said.” Ronan tilted his head to the side.

Kavinsky was doing it for himself.

***

Ronan stared at the beer cans in the fridge for a long time that night. “Ronan, you’re letting the cold air out,” Gansey commented when he found him there. If Kavinsky could do it, Ronan could too. At least for a night. Like Jones said, it was when things were tough that it mattered if he drank.

Ronan slammed the door shut, figuring he’d conquer his violent tendencies on a later date.

One thing at a time.


	13. Healthy Familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: offhanded remarks about suicide and child neglect, and a little reveal of my oh-so positive view of America’s education system.
> 
> (Read the song. Or you know, listen to it. You'll thank me. ((and I'll thank you)).)

_Take This Lonely Heart_ by Nothing But Thieves

Kavinsky was gone from Thanksgiving and into the new year. Ronan didn’t expect to see him in the parking lot after school the day they returned for the new semester.

Kavinsky caught his eye and smirked. Kavinsky looked a little fuller, as if he had been eating regularly, and not vomiting regularly. Ronan imagined he, himself, must not look that great in contrast. He’d been attending therapy, but that didn’t mean he stayed sober the whole time.

Ronan strode over to Kavinsky and shoved his hands into Kavinsky’s hair. Kavinsky placed his hands on Ronan’s cheeks and kissed him soundly. Kavinsky broke the kiss with a chuckle, but Ronan didn’t let go of his hair. “What’s with your sudden vendetta against my hair?”

Ronan considered not answering, but then shrugged. “It’s soft. Healthy.” He watched as Kavinsky tried to hide the fact that he was preening. Ronan just rolled his eyes with a smirk and pulled him in for another kiss.

When they were finally able to pull away, the look Kavinsky gave him was sharp, piercing. This look was gentle amazement, as if he wasn’t sure where Ronan had come from and was a bit aggravated that he couldn’t figure it out. As if he wasn’t sure he liked what Ronan made of him. He kissed Ronan once more anyway, cradling Ronan’s jaw in his hands. Kavinsky hadn’t looked at him like that since when he was consistently high, and at that time, the look was glazed over as if he didn’t care to think too hard.

“How do you feel?” Ronan asked him and Kavinsky barked out a laugh.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Who drove you here?”

“I drove myself, dumbass.” Kavinsky gestured to the Evo behind him.

“Who drove you from rehab?”

“Jiang.” Kavinsky smirked. “Don’t be jealous. I wanted to surprise you.” He was practically petting Ronan’s face, so Ronan shoved him away.

“You two realize that you are in a very public setting?” Gansey called from behind them.

“Fuck off,” Ronan grunted.

“Proko and I have slept with half the student body. They know when to look away,” Kavinsky announced, and Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Slut.”

“You love it.”

“Where are your glasses?” Ronan asked, realizing that he hadn’t had to take them off of Kavinsky’s face. Kavinsky looked back at the car, but they weren’t on the dashboard either.

“I’ll dream new ones.” Kavinsky didn’t seem too concerned.

“Ones that don’t scratch.”

“What about you? Did you drink yourself to death over me?” Kavinsky pouted.

“He stayed sober unless he thought he was emotionally stable,” Gansey remarked. “Well, mostly. Well—”

“Why did you park here?” Ronan interrupted, gesturing from the Evo to the Pig beside them.

“‘ _Thought_ you were stable’?” Kavinsky repeated, not letting Ronan change the subject.

“Thought,” Gansey agreed, and Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Both of you fuck off. I’ve been going to Jones.” Ronan wrenched the Evo’s passenger seat door open.

“If we’re all done confessing our undying love, Blue is expecting us,” Henry cut in.

“He’s still here?” Kavinsky stage whispered.

“Can’t get rid of him,” Ronan confirmed.

“I can hear you.”

“Where are we going? Proko and Skov want to come,” Kavinsky asked instead of responding to Henry.

“Nino’s. Not Swan?” Gansey asked.

“He’s fucking Jiang,” Kavinsky said without looking up from his phone.

“Always so debonair.” Gansey rolled his eyes.

“What’s that, Dick Three?” Kavinsky wrinkled his nose at him with a grin.

“Let’s go,” Ronan grunted, jumping into the passenger seat of the Evo.

“How do you feel?” Ronan asked again when they drove off.

“Sober,” Kavinsky answered, clearly not wanting to get into it right now.

Ronan didn’t care. “And how’s that feel?”

“You’re not Jones.”

“I just want to know whether I need to put you a suicide watch. After all, this is the first time in months that you’ve been allowed to be alone.”

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Kavinsky grumbled.

Ronan waited, but Kavinsky seemed to be battling himself inwardly.

Ronan shrugged. “Guess that’s good. Can you—can you be alone?” There was another long silence. Kavinsky opened his mouth to answer, his eyes wide, but no answer came out. Finally, he glanced at Ronan and then back to the road, closing his mouth. Ronan let the silence continue.

“Feels like I’m hanging off a cliff,” Kavinsky offered monotonously.

“That’s not so good.”

“They want me to find a new job.”

“And hopefully not curse out the customers.” Ronan nodded.

“I chose lifeguard, so they showed me how to get certified.”

Ronan nodded again, not entirely sure how to respond. “That sounds perfect for you.”

“Does it?” Kavinsky furrowed his eyebrows and sneered at Ronan.

“You like the water. You’re saving lives.”

“I don’t save lives,” Kavinsky scoffed.

“You do now. Which is the point.” Ronan knew Kavinsky knew this. Kavinsky was mentally aware enough to psychoanalyze himself—to determine that saving lives was a perfect job to counteract the lives Kavinsky felt responsible for ruining.

Kavinsky rolled his eyes, looking so much more like a person than he ever had before. “How do you feel, Lynch? We’re not doing a therapy session.”

“Sober,” Ronan repeated, and Kavinsky snickered.

“We’ll just have to accept our issues. Make them our own.”

“That will lead to drug abuse and alcoholism.”

“Church boy.” Kavinsky smirked.

Ronan twitched and moved to snap back, but then shrugged. “I won’t apologize for that.”

“Fucking didn’t say you had to.”

“Don’t accept your issues. Don’t make them your own. Fucking grow out of them. Fucking kill them.” If Kavinsky weren’t driving, Ronan would have grabbed his face and forced eye contact. Kavinsky had ditched the glasses and already seemed to emote normally. Would he look Ronan in the eyes?

“Have you gone over your anger issues with Jones yet?” Kavinsky bit his lip—which was healed.

“I’m not angry,” Ronan snapped and then caught himself. He shifted in his seat as they pulled into the parking lot. “I’m… passionate.”

Kavinsky pressed his lips together to hide his amused snort. “You’ve certainly made that your own.” Ronan rolled his eyes, trying to stop from smirking back.

“They also said to make amends,” Kavinsky commented when he put the car in park. “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. And thank you for sticking with me. I guess. Don’t know how you did it.”

He _did_ look Ronan in the eyes, and now it was Ronan’s turn to blush away. “Didn’t do shit,” he murmured.

“You knew enough to get me to therapy.”

“That’s all I knew—I didn’t know shit. I still don’t.”

They both jumped when Proko began banging on Kavinsky’s window. “You promised us food! Stop talking about your feelings and feed us!”

When they walked into Nino’s, they saw that Adam, Gansey and Henry were already seated, talking with Blue. They scooted into the booth and Blue didn’t bat an eye at Proko and Skov.

“You’re back,” she informed Kavinsky.

“I noticed,” he answered.

“Are you better or did you give up?”

“What’s the third option?” Kavinsky wrinkled his nose.

“He’s better,” Proko commented, shoveling the bread from the center of the table into his mouth. “Gansey’s paying for this shit, right? I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“Dick! The ‘debo-’!” Kavinsky gesticulated at Prokopenko, smiling widely at Gansey, who blinked.

“‘ _Debonair_ ’? You acted like you didn’t know what I meant.” Gansey raised an eyebrow.

“Are you two speaking ‘privileged-kid’ again?” Blue cut in.

“Just your boy,” Kavinsky promised.

Blue turned her attention to Ronan. “Your daughter misses you. You need to come by sometimes, you know. Not good for them to be away from their parents. Or so I hear.”

“Are you neglecting our child? Have you given her a real name yet?” Kavinsky asked Ronan.

“Calla named her Opal. You two lost your chance to have a say. Pay your child support, dumbass.” Blue finished and stepped away to help the next customer at the door.

“Great, let’s just yell that a little louder, why don’t we?” Adam chuckled.

“What’re your plans now you’re back, K?” Henry asked to change the subject, and Kavinsky blinked.

“To be happy,” Kavinsky snapped.

“I thought that didn’t work so well last time.” Henry raised an eyebrow.

“I have a moral compass now.” Kavinsky patted Ronan’s face and Ronan shoved him away. The pizza arrived and everyone dug in but Kavinsky. Ronan watched as he picked at his food.

“Adam’s going to Harvard,” Gansey bragged.

“Gansey. It’s not—not official,” Adam complained.

“You’ll get in.”

Kavinsky scoffed. “Yeah. Flash a check, sing a song of heartache, and I could get in too.” He took a bite of pizza.

“Not with your criminal record,” Skov commented, and Proko snickered.

“Fine. But Ro could,” Kavinsky claimed, with his mouth full.

“Not with my criminal record,” Ronan added, and Adam smirked.

“What, truancy?” Kavinsky deadpanned.

“At this rate, the two of you won’t even graduate high school,” Gansey grumbled through his pizza.

“I have a doctor’s note.” Kavinsky stared back, smug.

“Is that what they’re calling it, these days?” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“I’m dating a forger.” Ronan shrugged with a flat look.

“Right! Lynch and I have already graduated Harvard, with honors, according to the paperwork!” Kavinsky threw his head back and laughed.

When they exited Nino’s, they were approached by some boy Ronan didn’t know. None of them seemed to recognize him, but the clear bags under his bloodshot eyes made Kavinsky think he probably _should_ remember him.

“Out with the Gangsey, K?” He called, swaying on his feet. “Haven’t seen you around any parties. People say you’ve lost your edge. Lost it when you tried to off yourself.” They all winced except Ronan, who bared his teeth in a sneer, ready to attack if necessary.

“I don’t need an edge,” Kavinsky enunciated, stepping solidly up to the kid. Seeing the kid sway with drug use amplified Kavinsky’s clear stability, and Ronan’s sneer turned to a smile— no less dangerous.

“What happened to you, man?”

“Do I know you?” Kavinsky snapped.

“What—what happened…?” The kid asked again and then grinned toothily. “You’re such a lame ass now.”

Kavinsky’s smirk matched Ronan’s. “I fucking grew up. When will you?” Ronan pulled him back in time to stop the kid’s feeble fist from connecting with Kavinsky’s chin.

“’S go,” Ronan grunted.

“Who’s whose dog now?” The kid guffawed, but Kavinsky let himself be led away.

“For the record, Joseph.” Gansey rushed to keep up with them and stopped by Kavinsky’s side. “You’re not a lame ass. You’re the bravest person I know. And that’s saying something.” Gansey cocked his head back to where Adam and Henry were standing by the Pig.

“Go comfort your own boyfriends, Dick. They look shaken up.” Kavinsky’s thanks wouldn’t extend to Gansey—not now, not yet.

They spent the night at Kavinsky’s, where they were both able to dream well. They entered a place that wasn’t quite Cabeswater, the trees too timid and scenery unchanging.

Kavinsky pressed Ronan to one of the trees, a leg between Ronan’s. Ronan inhaled roughly as Kavinsky held his mouth only an inch away from Ronan’s. “I see now why you never objected to being called Gansey’s dog. It’s hot isn’t it?” Kavinsky asked. Ronan tried to lean in to press his lips to Kavinsky’s, but Kavinsky held him in place, his leg twitching where it rested. “Am I your dog, Lynch? Your bitch?”

“I’m not into that shit. Neither is Gansey,” Ronan growled out and pulled Kavinsky forward. Kavinsky denied him once more, instead pressing his mouth hard against Ronan’s collarbone.

“Oh?” Kavinsky chuckled. “And you know this, how?” Ronan rolled his eyes and used his hands in Kavinsky’s pants to get Kavinsky to stop talking.

The next morning, Kavinsky jostled the bed as he stumbled out of it, stretching bodily and then stumbling a little more. “Dizzy?” Ronan asked, blinking himself awake.

“’S good,” Kavinsky answered and waddled off to the bathroom.

Ronan groaned obnoxiously and headed downstairs to make them coffee. It was a Tuesday, and Kavinsky woke him up early enough to take away any excuse for _not_ attending school.

Except that Kavinsky walked into the kitchen wearing a collared button up and tie. He messed with the cuffs and then glanced up to see Ronan staring him down, shirtless. They both stared a little longer than necessary, but neither of them felt the need to point it out.

“Where’re you going?” Ronan asked.

“Job interview.”

“Already?” Ronan handed Kavinsky his coffee.

“They wouldn’t let me leave without one scheduled. They’ll check in too, or so they say. To be sure I went.” Kavinsky didn’t hide his desire—a hand pressed against Ronan’s bare chest as he kissed Ronan’s cheek.

“Not to be sure you get the job?”

“They can only go so far to help us broken-to-shit types.”

“Lifeguarding?”

“Pool maintenance.” 

“You don’t even have to talk to people.” Ronan nodded and Kavinsky rolled his eyes with a smirk.

After school, Ronan went to pick up Opal and take her to the Barns for a while. While at Blue’s house, he handed Calla an envelope that said, ‘ _fucking child support’_ on it, and she welcomed him to drop Opal off anytime. They fed the animals while Chainsaw circled overhead, finding the best barn to roost on for a while. Ronan thought she was getting lazy in her adulthood.

Eventually, Kavinsky texted to see where Ronan had ended up, and then joined them at the Barns for the night.

They sat out around a firepit, trying to show Opal the joys of smores. She was more interested in the sticks. She ended up in Kavinsky’s lap as he attempted to stop her from gnawing on them.

“Did you get the job?”

“It was an interview; I don’t know yet.” Kavinsky sipped at his beer. Ronan hadn’t bought any in a while, but there were some left over in the kitchen. They figured they may as well finish off what was left, though Ronan made an effort not to do so in one sitting.

“When do you find out?”

“Whenever they want to let me know.” Kavinsky burped and Opal copied him, laughing hysterically at the noise that came out of her mouth while the other two pretended that it wasn’t terrifying to hear come out of a child.

“That’s fucked,” Ronan grunted, and Kavinsky sighed, poking the fire with his stick.

“Do you ever want to leave this shithole? Get a fresh start?”

“I think it’s fun to make them see how far you’ve come. This shithole hasn’t changed like we have.” Ronan smirked as Kavinsky considered.

“Shithole,” Opal repeated. Repetition was her new favorite thing, especially when she could pinpoint the word she knew nobody wanted her to repeat.

“Yep, thanks Opal. Don’t say that,” Ronan chided.

“Fuckbox,” she sang.

“See, neither of us said that, so you get to shut the hell up.”

“Shut the hell.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ronan groaned, and Kavinsky clamped a hand over Opal’s mouth to stop that endless cycle. Ronan rubbed his eyes and huffed. Opal tried to eat the nearest end of Kavinsky’s stick and they decided it was time for her to go to bed.

Eventually, they managed to shove Opal in Matthew’s room after being sure there was nothing valuable there to be eaten. They stumbled off to Ronan’s room, arms wrapped together between them as they kissed against each surface on the way.

“How are you doing?” Ronan asked him when they landed on the bed.

“Fine.”

“Oh?” Ronan raised an eyebrow and Kavinsky wrapped his arms around Ronan’s neck.

They lay there with their foreheads pressed together as Kavinsky whispered out, “You know what I did this morning, Ro? I woke up. I woke excited to be awake.” He grinned a disgusted smile. “I haven’t felt that in years. If ever. I’m not alone. I’m not so overcome with myself, or my own problems that I need to shoot up, I’m not stupid, and I’m not hateful, I’m ready. I’m goddamn ready. And it terrifies me.” His eyes were watery, searching Ronan’s for the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking.

“It’s good.”

“It’s good,” Kavinsky repeated, but clearly wasn’t sure if he believed this.

“You’re overthinking it.”

“No fuck, and you’re not Jones.” Kavinsky unraveled himself from Ronan.

“He’ll help.” Ronan shrugged and Kavinsky turned to face the ceiling with a huff. “You’re scared because you’ve changed,” Ronan offered instead, hand propping his head up where he leaned against his elbow. “Everyone’s scared of change.”

“Even for the better?” Kavinsky sat up and messed with the blanket at Ronan’s hips.

“Why not? It’s still unknown.” Ronan shrugged.

“I’ve changed so much. Too much. Fucking who am I? ‘Cause I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“You’ve changed for the better. I know it doesn’t make it much better, but—”

“Am I who you love?” Kavinsky stared him down.

“Yes.” Ronan reveled in Kavinsky’s clear eyes.

“Was I who you love?”

“You’re still you, K.” Ronan didn’t break the eye contact he had so longed for.

“Change is horrible.” There was that Jersey accent Ronan loved. Ronan wanted to swallow those tones whole, but now really wasn’t the time.

Ronan huffed a laugh to himself as he sat up. “Change can be bat-shit insane. Even if it is good. We have to learn to deal.” Kavinsky considered this before shaking his head. “Yes.”

“No,” Kavinsky barely whimpered.

“ _Yes_.”

“I’m tired of dealing!” Kavinsky snapped. “I’m fucking tired.”

“Then go to sleep. And deal in the morning.” Kavinsky scoffed. “Jones said you can get so caught up in depression, hatred, fear, or whatever—whatever _shit_ —that leaving it is hard. Like drugs. You don’t want to drop it because it’s familiar.” Ronan placed a hard hand against Kavinsky’s shoulder. “Joseph. You already want to get better—you already have. Let it happen.”

Kavinsky punched at the bed. “I don’t _want_ to want it. The pain.”

“We don’t get to choose what we want.” If ever Ronan was a poster child for that statement. “The pain is familiar, and we like that familiarity. But if what we want is familiarity, let’s find it somewhere healthy.”

“Will you stay with me?” Kavinsky reached out for Ronan’s jaw, but Ronan’s jump at the abrupt motion stopped him.

Ronan saw the pause and took Kavinsky’s hand in his to press it to his own cheek. “That won’t change.”

“A healthy familiar.” Ronan couldn’t stop himself this time from leaning in to kiss Kavinsky’s accent away.

“Talk to Jones.” Ronan broke his lips away for a moment and Kavinsky fought back toward him, Ronan’s hand on his neck the only thing stopping him. “Promise me.”

“Fuck you.” They both grinned.

And that was good enough for Ronan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I don't know how rehab works. Sorry if this is inaccurate on that front.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)


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